Spring Break
by erbby17
Summary: Arthur is dragged to the "country of love" during Spring Break. Will he be able to endure the crazy antics of the Bad Friends and keep a steady relationship with Alfred back home? And what of the presence of his ex, Francis? High School AU.
1. Le prologue

_A/N - I wanted to make sure I updated "_**A Mind So Tainted**_" before posting the first chapter of this fic, which, personally, I am SOOOO excited to write. It'll be a good balance: the heaviness of AMiST against the fun of this._

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters. At all. I don't own much, actually. Anyway, this fic is set in the "Gakuen AU" of Hetalia, with a little personal spin, of course: the school system is more Westernized [actually, it takes place in the US]. It's what I know, so I write what I know. Be warned for partying, shenanigans in France [the actual geographical country], drunken sex scenes, and a very angsty British boy dealing with the issues of "love". All of this, however, will not be featured in this intro chapter._

_Regardless...ENJOY!_

_~*~*~*~_

"_Spring Dance Rules & Regulations_? Christ, Arthur, really? You're gonna destroy that for us too?"

"Gilbert," Arthur snapped, his eyes darting back to glare viciously at his disturbance. "I thought I told you not to bother me when I'm doing paperwork!"

The silver-haired teen groaned and leaned forward over Arthur's shoulder, grabbing a stack of papers to toss aside. "But I never get a chance to see you anymore, you're always so busy," Gilbert complained with an award-winning pout, the fluttering of papers adding a soothing soundtrack to his plight.

The young Briton breathed in sharply before pushing Gilbert aside to gather the fallen papers, his temper on the verge of exploding. How he ever had the patience to deal with Gilbert, he would never know, but perhaps knowing the German native for so long was part of the explanation. "Well, maybe if you opened some time in your own _social_ calendar, we could spend more time together, but no; you, that slimy frog, and what's-his-name are always out gallivanting. I wouldn't be surprised if all three of you were joined at the hip somehow."

"Jealous, are we?"

The slam of papers to the desk surface told Gilbert otherwise, his shrill laughter igniting the classroom with a flame of unhinged madness. "Ha ha, sorry, sorry, I guess not," he said, watching intently as Arthur's face returned to its normal shade. "But it would be nice to have you join us sometime."

Arthur rolled his eyes, fixing and rearranging the messed papers before bringing them to the filing cabinet beside the desk. "Please, I'd rather not. You know that Francis and I…"

Everything froze; his voice, his body. Even the sound of Gilbert's breaths were silenced. Arthur sighed and slammed the cabinet drawer shut. "Sorry," he said beneath his breath, grabbing his coat and reaching down for his bag.

"Ah, don't be sorry. I understand," Gilbert said, his voice a bit more gentle than earlier; that insane flame died as the room experienced a mournful moment of silence.

"Besides, what would Alfred say?"

Gilbert tossed his head back and groaned, his lapse into gentility dying with an echoing moan. "Don't tell me you're still going out with Jones," he said, his lip curling up in a form of disgust.

"Yes, Gilbert, we've been together almost seven months now," Arthur responded, trying to ignore the incessant grumblings from the silver-haired student by making his way towards the door. Unfortunately, Gilbert managed to get there first, blocking all outside-access behind his ego-fueled form.

"Arthur, you know I can't stand the guy. Why don't you just dump him already?"

He could feel his blood begin to boil again, his hand tightening its grip on the bag handle. "Because, I like him, okay Gilbert? Now get out of the way, I'd like to go home," Arthur said, trying to push Gilbert aside.

But the overconfident teen was too formidable of a foe. Easily, he waved off Arthur's pitiful attempts and planted both his hands on the Brit's shoulders, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "What are you doing for Spring Break?"

"Gilbert, please!"

"What are your plans? Going anywhere?"

It was hopeless. Arthur sighed and looked into his friend's determined face. "No, actually, I'm staying on campus. I have a calculus exam right after break and since I'm practically failing that class, I'd like to spend my week…"

"_**Studying**_?! Who the fuck studies during Spring Break?" The sound of utter disgust returned to Gilbert's voice, his face twisting and contorting in a garish show of disapproval.

"_I _do, so if you don't mind…"

Gilbert just laughed, wrapping his arm around his friend and finally letting him out the door. "Arthur, you're going to France," he said triumphantly, marching down the hallway with a fuming Englishman locked in his arm. "Save the studying for another time."

"A-are you out of your bleeding mind," Arthur cried, trying to wriggle out of Gilbert's hold, but to no avail. "Alfred was going to come over and tutor me! I can't just turn down our plans on such short notice!"

Again, Gilbert burst out in glorious laughter, its haunting sound reverberating down the hall. "Ha! See, I knew it! That's not called studying, that's called a date, Arthur. Believe me; you'll do much better on that test by partying in Paris than by sucking off jock-cock on your dorm."

"G-gilbert!" And even though Gilbert was regrettably telling the truth about one small detail, Arthur refused to admit it. He stared up at his friend, cheeks flushed and embarrassed from the peering into his romantic life. But this was Gilbert, and he was a pro at butting into things that didn't involve him.

Looking down at his captured friend, Gilbert flashed an infectious smile and gave Arthur's arm a tug, running down the hall towards the large lobby doors. "Nothing else to say, huh? Sweet! Let's start packing your things."

If only Arthur had the strength to break free of Gilbert's hold, but he knew it was a task near impossible for most people. He would just have to accept that his best friend would be dragging him across the ocean for a week of insanity; he knew what to expect from Gilbert. At times.

~*~*~*~

_THANKS FOR READING! Stay tuned for what happens next! :D_

**_~erbby_**


	2. Un, le départ

_A/N: YAY, NEW CHAPTER! I have yet to think of a better chapter for this fic, but oh well, it's still super fun to write. X3_

_DISCLAIMER: I own nothing: not this series, or the characters, or that AWESOME Lynyrd Skynyrd song that slips its way into this chapter. Don't worry, you'll see. ;D This chapter has some harsh language in it, more references to Oral Sex (I think Gilbert has a thing for it, Iunno), and some violence. Not much, though. OH, and since this is an AU in modern times, Gilbert WILL be refered to as a 'German', because...well, I think we know why. Anyway, that's all I have to say. ENJOY!!!_

_~*~*~*~_

**Un, le départ**

Arthur always made sure his room was kept immaculate, and in only five minutes, Gilbert had turned it into a complete sty. Clothing was everywhere; on the floor, over chairs, and torn inside out. The blinds were crooked and the bed sheets went askew, a display that would send the English student to the bathroom in a frenzy to spew chunks.

"What's up with these clothes, Arthur," Gilbert said with a hint of distaste, examining an argyle sweater-vest before tossing it over his shoulder into the wrinkled mess behind him. "It's like you're always dressing for afternoon tea with your grandma."

A powerful grimace on his face, Arthur stood at the door, bemused with Gilbert's idea of _packing_. "Gilbert, my grandmother's been dead for six years," he said flatly.

Gilbert groaned and stood up, eyeing the clothing piles about the room. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I was at the funeral. Well, your fashion sense sucks balls. Good thing I brought extra clothes with me!"

"I am not wearing your clothing, Gilbert."

Rolling his eyes, the silver-haired teen grabbed a duffle back and carefully picked clothes out from the mounds of fabric. "Fine, whatever, I'm sure this will do until we get into France," he said, expertly shoving each article of clothing into the bag and tossing it towards Arthur. "Think fast!"

Arthur nearly tumbled to the floor from the force of the flying bag but was saved by Gilbert before he was knocked unconscious. Of course, faced with cracking his skull against the floor or having his arm forcibly pulled from its socket, Arthur would've chosen the former any day. But before Arthur could open his mouth to add to his daily quota of yelling at Gilbert, the two were down the hall and out of the dorms, greeted by the presence of a flashy, red convertible.

"Hurry up, Gilbert, our flight leaves in two hours," the dark-skinned teen in the passenger's seat called out, lifting up his sunglasses to reveal emerald eyes.

Arthur studied the car and its occupants, the color in his face draining at the discovery of the individuals. His lip twitching in rage, Arthur's hand bolted towards Gilbert, grabbing the German teen tightly by the collar. "Gilbert! What is this?!"

An ever-so-guilty smile crept on Gilbert's face, his eyes darting away to avoid Arthur's fuming visage. "Our ride to the airport?"

"Gilbert! You never said the two of them were coming along," Arthur growled, keeping his voice low and foreboding. "You know I can't spend a week with…_him_."

From the driver's seat, the blonde in question peaked over his passenger's head, his ocean blue eyes scanning the arguing duo. "Do not tell me that is your surprise, Gilbert," he said, voice thick with an accent that sent Arthur's blood to boil.

Gilbert sighed, his attention fixed on the enraged Briton. "Look, I know you and Francis have a bit of a rocky past…"

"A _bit_?!"

"Hey! Don't interrupt," Gilbert yelled, completely offended. "Listen, I just want to spend my last Spring Break of high school with my three best friends, okay? Just deal with it, you'll live."

Arthur stopped to consider the situation and glanced over at the car, where his ex sat idly behind the wheel, chatting away with Antonio. He groaned, the carefully buried memories in his mind crawling out from their graves to itch at Arthur's conscious. Shuddering, he turned his head back to Gilbert, keeping his eyes on the ground. "Gilbert, I don't think I can do this."

He felt the light pressure of a pair of hands on his shoulders, a sign that Gilbert was desperate. "Please, Arthur? Besides, you were just saying that we never spend enough time together anymore."

Gilbert shoved him the corner, playing the pathetic card to send Arthur to cave in under guilt. And of course, it worked, much to Arthur's dismay. "I'm not going to enjoy this," he said, taking the first step towards the car.

Excited yells and cries followed Arthur and leapt over him, landing in the seat behind the driver and smirking over at the Briton. "This is gonna be fucking awesome," he said, lounging in his seat.

Grumbling, Arthur placed his bag in the trunk before trudging into the car to sit beside his beaming friend. "You owe me, Beilschmidt," he mumbled, shutting the door in time for the car to begin its speedy journey towards the airport.

The stinging wind against his face threw Arthur into a lapse of self reflection, his eyes not once moving their focus from the back of Francis' head; had it really been that long since the two of them ended their relationship, since they both left with broken hearts? He sighed, trying to remember the last conversation he had with the French youth, but all his mind could unearth were numbing yells and sore throats. He sighed, finally turning his head away to watch the trees mesh in a hurried flash with rest of the scenery.

"_Cuz I'm as free as a bird now; and this bird you cannot change_…"

Startled, Arthur fumbled with his pockets once his cell phone rang, the three other boys in the car joining in on a hearty laugh.

"That can_not_ be your ringtone," the Spaniard in front of him said, eyeing him from over his shoulder with mocking eyes.

Arthur's cheeks flushed bright red, stopping the American classic before the infamous guitar solo rang clear. "Alfred, hey," he said, plugging his free ear with his finger to block out the distracting sniggers.

"_Hey, Arthur, are you on your way, or what? I've been waiting at Mickey D's for a half hour now."_

"Shit," he cursed softly, rolling his eyes at his own carelessness. "I'm so sorry, I was going to call you but all of this sort of happened at the last minute: I'm going to France. With Gilbert."

"_Oh._" He paused. "_What about that test you have next Monday? You gonna study in France?_"

"Not…likely," he groaned, hanging his arms and chin over the edge of the car. "I'm so sorry, Alfred, I didn't mean to…"

"_No, that's cool. Really_," he said in his usual, chipper tone. _"I mean, I kinda had a few things planned for the break and…_"

"Jesus, give me that damn thing," Gilbert said in the background, snatching the phone from Arthur's hand.

"Gilbert! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Hey, Alfie, what up? Listen, I'm stealing your boy toy for the week, so if you need someone to give you a good blow, I can recommend a few lovely ladies, but for the time being, I've gotta cut this conversation short. Enjoy spring break," he said into the phone, and before even bothering to listen to the American respond, tossed it back to its asphalt death.

Arthur stared in horror, his phone crashing to pieces on the road flying behind them. "M-my phone," he said in a mournful tone.

He could hear Gilbert make some sort of snarky remark, but all that accomplished was a stiff fist in the German's stomach. "Th-the fuck, Arthur?!"

"You fucking idiot," the Briton screamed, accenting this words with another fist against Gilbert's face. "That was my phone!"

"Children, please, can we stop fighting?"

Arthur froze, twitching at the sound of Francis' voice. A low grumble roared from his throat before he ceased beating Gilbert. "You're dead, Beilschmidt. _**Dead**_," he said beneath his breath.

The chilling sound of silence roamed in the air between the four passengers before the car pulled up to the airport. The two in the front seat scrambled to get out first, as if to leave the unsettling air behind far them.

"I can't believe you did that to my phone, Gilbert," Arthur grumbled, nearly leaping out of the car and shaking with fury.

Gilbert rolled his eyes and stepped out onto the curb, his hand stretching out with a new phone cradled in his palm. "Not like that phone's gonna be any use to you overseas; we got these international phones for the trip."

Arthur snatched the phone from Gilbert's hand and immediately pocketed it, walking back to retrieve his duffle bag from the trunk. "Alfred's number better be in here," he grumbled, walking up onto the sidewalk and into the screen doors of the airport. The next few hours would indeed be the longest of his life.

~*~*~*~

_Will Arthur survive?! WHO KNOWS! Tune in...next chapter...to find out! /lame_

**_~erbby_**


	3. Deux, samedi

_A/N: And thus, two months later, I update this fic, lol. Sorry, guys: March & April have been AWFUL for me this year. Plus, this chapter wasn't too easy to write in the first place._

_Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Not much to warn in this chapter, except some slight adult references in the end. Also, my French is incredibly rusty, so I apologize for...it. XD Please enjoy! The next few chapters will really get this story moving. ;D_

* * *

The flight into France could not have been more miserable; Arthur sat next to Gilbert, else he throw another fit, who spent the whole seven hours on the plane making crude remarks about the flight attendants to his equally crude friends in the seat across the aisle. Arthur was surprised when the window didn't crack from his incessant head banging. Of course, the pain of the head ache was much more tolerable than the screaming mesh of German, Spanish, and French being tossed about in the first class section of the plane.

The plane arrived at the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris a little after seven in the morning and Arthur felt the jet lag immediately. "Any idea _where_ we're spending our week in France," Arthur grumbled at the baggage claim, feeling the weight of his head over taking his body.

"The Bonnefoy Paris Estate," Gilbert said like a travel agent, holding up Arthur's lethargic form and heading towards the airport exit.

Nausea suddenly took control of Arthur's body before Gilbert tossed him into the limousine that awaited the four teens at the curb. "Wh-where?!"

"It's more of a penthouse, actually," Antonio said, gawking at the green-faced Briton over Gilbert's lap. "Shit, Gilbert, he doesn't look too good."

"Yo, Francis! Does this thing come with a barf bag?!"

"_Non, mon ami_, you should've brought one with you from the plane," Francis answered nonchalantly, slipping into the limo last and shutting the door. "Who's sick?"

Gilbert pointed to Arthur, who sat there, staring blankly into space with a face mixed with tinges of milky white and pea green.

Francis smirked, turning his head away. "Oh, he should be fine; as long as he doesn't ruin the seats."

The following laughs and conversation between the self-proclaimed "Bad Friends" filtered through Arthur's brain like bad tea in sewage water, his mind still trying to grasp the time difference and circadian roller coaster. Francis' penthouse in Paris: he had been there a few times, for long weekends and summer breaks, and the sweet nature of such memories caused the butterflies in his stomach to flutter formidably. But nowadays, these memories were far from pleasant.

The car jolted to a stop, not a wise choice on the driver's part as Arthur could see the fine upholstery being destroyed by his bile of misery. Luckily, such matter never spewed from Arthur's mouth, and he was brought out of the car and into fresh air in a timely matter.

Looking up, Arthur spotted the familiar building boasting its glamour to the neighborhood. Just like its resident. He grumbled under his breath and hoisted his luggage up over the curb and into the lobby, where an elevator greeted the foursome. Even the ride up to the top two floors seemed to last forever, more memories of previous rides gnawing at his aching head. _No_, he thought, _let's not remember __**those**__ nights_.

The second the doors opened to the small hallway, Antonio stumbled out of the elevator before slamming his body against the wall. "Hurry up, Francis, I need some sleep," he complained, the French blonde walking up to the door before unlocking and opening it. As soon as the penthouse was open for its occupants, Antonio flew inside and promptly passed out on the couch.

Arthur stared at the hopeless mess, especially at that elated smile on his sleeping face, before walking forward down the hall to get some rest on an actual bed.

"Looks like you know you're way around pretty well, huh," Gilbert said with a yawn, close behind.

With a look of irritation, Arthur stepped into the room on his right. "You know I've been here before," he regrettably replied, setting his suitcase beside before flopping face first on the bed. One deep breath reminded Arthur of the homeowner, his body immediately flipping over to stare at the ceiling. "Why did you have to drag me here, Gilbert?"

Leaning against the doorframe, the platinum blonde shrugged. "I guess I just miss you," he said softly with a sad smirk, before taking his leave. "We're hitting the clubs tonight, Arthur, you should join us!"

The door shut before Arthur could properly decline the offer, a well-perceived tactic of his long time friend. He sighed, and tried to close his eyes to fall asleep. Unfortunately, Paris wasn't the right atmosphere for the Briton.

lll

Arthur eventually managed to get some rest, but it wasn't until later in the afternoon when he got his much desired sleep. He awoke to serene silence and the warm glow of the early evening sun, a rather pleasant way to re-start his unfortunate journey. Glancing around the room, he spotted the international phone Gilbert handed to him before their flight; no time could be better to give Alfred a call.

With uninhibited speed, Arthur dialed the Alfred's number, as if it would disappear if he wasn't fast enough. The phone rang for a while before the American on the other line answered with a cautious, "_Hello?_"

"Alfred! Alfred, it's me, Arthur!"

"_Arthur!?_" Alfred sounded odd, a mix of worry and excitement in his voice. "_Are you alright?_"

Sighing, Arthur nodded, feeling the relief of a smile on his face. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Sorry about yesterday, Gilbert can be…"

"_A bit of a jerk, yeah, I know,_" he said with a chuckle, sounding much happier than he probably should've been. "_So, how's France?_"

"It…it's France," he answered with hesitation, settling down in an armchair.

"_Heh, well, you know I've never been there, but I bet it's great._"

Arthur held the phone close to his ear, wishing for that bite of sadness to flutter from Alfred's voice, but there was only so much he could do an ocean away. "Yeah, great," he repeated with little emotion.

Right as Arthur was about to open his mouth to stray the conversation from its current subject, loud cries and laughter echoed in the apartment and eventually slammed against Arthur's door; Gilbert hung in the doorframe, a smug look plastered on his face. Arthur rolled his eyes, his little bit of happiness drowning in his best friend's ego. "I'm sorry, Alfred, I have to go," he reluctantly said.

"_That's alright, I'm just glad you got there safely. Have a fun trip, Arthur. Love you!_"

"I love you too, Alfred." Arthur smiled, his voice soft and low, and hung up.

"I could gag. Right now," Gilbert said, his body lurching into Arthur's bedroom.

"Gilbert, stop ruining my phone calls with my boyfriend," Arthur said, tossing the phone on the bed and following suit, cuddling against a pillow for comfort.

The German rolled his eyes, an obvious sign of his disagreement. "I'd hardly call it 'ruining', more like, 'enhancing'. Now, come on! Let's get you dressed," he said, tossing a pair of torn up jeans and a bright, neon shirt to the floor.

"I'm not wearing your clothes," Arthur said flatly, a prominent scowl on his lips.

"You are tonight, man. Now get that grumpy ass of yours off the bed before I have to force you into these," Gilbert teased, stepping into the room and leaning against the bed.

Arthur groaned, burying his face deep into the pillow in his arms. "Gilbert, I don't want to!"

The sounds of a juvenile child squirmed their way out of Gilbert's lungs, his hands pushing and rolling Arthur's body on the bed. "Please? For me?"

Not much thought went into Arthur's final decision, considering the right answer would stop Gilbert's incessant nagging. "Fine! But I'm not wearing that hideous shirt," he said, pulling out a more suitable top from his suitcase before shooing the smiling German out of the room.

"You won't regret it, Artie! We're gonna have a blast!"

lll

Unfortunately, Arthur did. The trip was already sent towards disaster, the attempt at clubbing sending Arthur back to the penthouse not even an hour into in his stay. Again, he couldn't find the energy to fall asleep, deciding to instead enjoy a book in the solitude of the living room. But said solitude was short lived.

"_Hn, Francis, tu es très vulgaire_," the voice of a French vixen echoed into the apartment, startling the Briton from his book.

Into the living room walked Francis with a thin, scantily clad brunette held snug in his arm. "_Mais, tu as revenu à mon appartement avec moi, non_," he said with a devilish tongue, his face buried deep in the curves of her neck.

She wiggled in his arms before meeting eyes with a disturbed blonde on the couch. "_Eh, Francis, qui est-ce?_"

Francis lifted his head, blonde and brown strands of hair flying up with him and sticking to his sweat covered face. He shared an unpleasant glare with Arthur, the two of them making obvious of their mutual distaste for one another. "_Je ne sais pas, Charlene_," he said, lifting the inebriated woman's chin and sealing the answer with a messy kiss. "_Nous allons à ma chambre_?"

The two wobbled pathetically down the hall, slamming into walls with laughs and grunts of pleasure; according to Arthur's ears, the two were already fornicating before they even reached the bedroom. "Bastard," Arthur spat beneath his breath, tossing his book onto another chair before getting up to head way towards his own bedroom, on the other side of the apartment.

Despite the distance of the rooms, Arthur couldn't sleep without hearing jumbled moans in French and harsh banging on walls. Another long night stole sleep from him.

* * *

**_...to be continued._**

_THANKS FOR READING!!!_

_**~erbby**_


	4. Trois, dimanche

_A/N: A short chapter, yes. But I needed a 'filler' chapter. But do not fret! The next chapter is half-way done already, and I hope to have it up by the end of the week! Thanks for sticking around!_

_Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. There's some language in this chapter, but that's all. ENJOY!_

**Trois, dimanche**

The soundtrack of the night was one of crude moans that snaked their way into Arthur's sleeping ears. He was relieved to wake up, finding that the sounds had long since dispersed. "Well, there's another night of miserable sleep," he mumbled, rubbing his dark rimmed eyes.

Stepping out into the living and kitchen area, Arthur spotted Gilbert fixing something up at the stove, Antonio sitting beside him with his head hanging off the back of a chair.

"Gilbert, is it ready yet," the dark-skinned teen groaned, sounding miserable beyond words.

The German laughed and turned to face his friend with a steaming cup of whatever in his hand. "Here you go, man: the Beilschmidt Family Hangover Wonder Medicine. It never fails, right Arthur," Gilbert said, giving his friend a morning wink.

"Had a good night, I presume," Arthur mused aloud, sitting at the table across from the pained teen.

Antonio's face propelled forward and plastered to the table, his mumblings coming out in some coherent phrases. "Don't know, can't remember."

Gilbert laughed, slamming the cup down on the table to stir his friend. "That's proof it was good, Tony, so drink up."

His emerald eyes were fierce on Gilbert, Antonio grabbing the cup and downing the concoction in one gulp. "I'll wring your neck the next time you call me that, Gilbert."

Arthur tried to block out the obnoxious laughter of his best friend but the second a steaming mug of tea appeared before him, it was hard to ignore the German teen.

"I made sure we had a pack of Earl Grey," he said, walking back to the stove to finish up breakfast.

Bringing the mug to his lips, Arthur smiled at the first bout of enjoyment on his trip to France. "Thank you, Gilbert," he said softly. The soothing heat of a tea brought to Arthur a sweet taste of hospitality, reminding him of the lack of such a thing the previous night. He glanced around the apartment, curiosity filling his mind. "Where's Francis and his lady of the evening?"

Before he could even finish speaking, Antonio groaned and slammed his head against the table once more. "Fucking Francis," he moaned, digging his fingers into brunette curls.

"She woke up in Antonio's bed," Gilbert said, sitting down at the table with a large stack of pancakes. "Francis was gone by then."

"Gone? Where'd he go?"

"Church," Gilbert said, sliding plates of short stacks to his two green-eyed companions. "With his parents, actually."

Arthur stared at his pancakes, knowing all too well of his best friend's favorite meal. "I see," he said, stabbing the first pancake with a fork, picturing the French teen's face on the wheat surface. "I take it the girl left?"

Lifting his head, Antonio glared over at Arthur, pointing to the rather red mark staining his cheek. "After doing this, yeah, she's gone."

Arthur smiled, the morning meal actually taking a turn for the better. After surviving through most of his hangover misery, Antonio proved to be quite the pleasant fellow, a trait Arthur forgot in the time he spent away from the infamous trio. The three chattered all morning before Gilbert collected the plates and moved to the sink to clean up. "So, we're gonna head out for a bit. You up for it, Arthur?"

"Are you washing dishes?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes, rinsing plates of syrup before drying off his hands. "Yes, I am, Arthur. Now, do you wanna hit the town or no?"

Holding his nearly empty cup close, Arthur gave the two boys odd stares. "But it's a Sunday. Aren't most places closed?"

"Well, I think Gilbert just wanted to get some new clothes for you, and there's probably a few shops open," Antonio said, standing up from his seat.

Arthur looked up, pensive. "Gilbert, I'm not so sure about this."

"Come on, Arthur! You need some new threads, especially if we're gonna have that party here tomorrow night."

"Party?"

The other two smiled a nodded, a devious look in their Christmas colored eyes. "It's just for a little while," Antonio said, holding out a welcoming hand.

Arthur knew the consequences of denying the requests of Gilbert Beilschmidt and reluctantly took the Spanish student's hand.

And much like his breakfast, Arthur found the short outing to be quite the pleasant experience, surprised that there were a few shops open for business. The three of them managed to pick up a few dashing outfits for Arthur before returning to the penthouse to a far-from-pleasant surprise.

"_Au revoir, Maman_."

Arthur stopped, noticing those long blonde curls atop that slender form. "Shit," he said, trying to hide behind Gilbert, but the tall woman beside Francis glanced over in time.

"Arthur," she said through a heavy accent, making her way towards the door. "I see you've come to break my poor son's heart again, _non_?" Francis' mother's eyes were filled with a spark strong enough to degrade Arthur to a rodent. She brushed passed the three boys in the doorway, her nose stuck in the air. "_Adieu, Francis_," her voice echoed down the hall before getting cut off in the elevator.

Stiff silence filled the room, Francis' blue eyes locked on Arthur. "_Ma mère_ was not expecting to find such pests in the apartment," Francis said, before walking down towards his bedroom.

Her eyes and his voice, Arthur found it hard not to snap, the stabs at his heart making a permanent scar. "Fuck you!" The Briton fled, locking himself in his bedroom for the rest of the day.

**_...to be continued._**

_Thanks for reading!_

_**~erbby**_


	5. Quatre, lundi

_A/N: And here it is: the first REAL chapter of the story. Everything starts happening here, guys. And I know, I don't like her either, but the song was NECESSARY and I actually like it. So, I apologize ahead of time. But if you like her, COOL. Enjoy. Ha ha, you'll figure it out soon. Just read..._

_DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. There's some language and very light sexual content in this chapter. ENJOY!_

**

* * *

**

**Quatre, lundi**

After hours of tear-induced sleep, Arthur awoke to a late morning sun, pouring its amber rays through the tall glass windows of his room. He could've stayed in bed, slept all day, but he didn't want to disappoint Gilbert, or even Antonio, for that matter; he just wanted to be as far away from Francis as humanly possible.

He groaned, stepping out of bed and walking towards the windows before opening them and walking out onto the small balcony outside. Looking down at the street, Arthur could tell this city was perpetually busy, its inhabitants running in and out of cafés, people meeting on the corner for a morning salutation, and just plain old life right before his eyes. French life. A grimace invaded his face, Arthur taking that thought as a cue to step inside.

"Oh hey, Arthur! Give us a hand!"

Wide-eyed and confused, Arthur glanced up, spotting Gilbert and Antonio hanging out a window from the story above. "What are you two doing?"

Antonio laughed, his neck draped in colored strands of streamers. "Decorating! We've got a party tonight!"

Arthur could only fathom what they could be decorating before he remember the existence of the Great Room; the entire second floor of the Bonnefoy Paris penthouse was one giant room, for the likes of dinner parties and receptions and other such occasions. He'd only ever been up there once and Arthur tried his hardest to keep that memory at bay.

He looked up once more, greeting his friends with an attempted smile. "Maybe I'll come up for a bit," he called out before walking back into his room, glancing over at his phone on the nightstand. After the past two days, a call to Alfred could really brighten Arthur's mood, but the time difference told the blonde teen that his boyfriend was probably still asleep. Sighing, he walked out of his room and towards the spiral staircase, heading up to the Great Room.

The entire floor was covered in streamers and string-lights, along with a few bags of cups for the liquid entertainment. Everywhere else, the room looked a horrid mess. "Oh yes, this is the perfect atmosphere for a party," he said, kicking an empty box to the side.

"Shut up, Arthur, we just started," Gilbert complained, lining a table up beside the marked 'dance floor'.

Looking around, Arthur was lucky to find himself with just Gilbert and Antonio; sharing another room with Francis could prove to be disastrous. "Well, what time is everyone arriving," Arthur said, sitting down on one of the few chairs in the room.

Gilbert leaned against the table, his mind busy working the difficult mastery of memory. "Ah, like 9 or something like that. I don't know. I forget what I told people. Basically, whenever people start showing up."

"Brilliant," Arthur droned. "Well, I think I'll spend the day reading…"

Gilbert reached over and grabbed Arthur by the collar, bright red eyes burning into green. "You'll be up here tonight, man."

Squirming out of his hold, Arthur nodded and made his way back to the staircase. "Yes, yes, whatever. Good luck with the decorating," he said, leaving the Great Room before they had a chance to gain some French help.

Back in his room, Arthur heard an ominous beeping from his phone; running over, he discovered he had missed a call. "Alfred," he said, grabbing it and ready to dial before it rang obnoxiously. He answered, a sigh of relief escaping his lungs. "I didn't think you'd be awake," he said softly, sitting down on his bed with a perfect view before him.

"_Ha ha, surprised?_"

Arthur smiled, cradling the phone gently between his hand and ear. "Good morning, Alfred."

"_Morning, Arthur! How are you feeling?_" It was a wonder how Alfred could stay so chipper with his boyfriend overseas, but perhaps the phone call was brightening his mood as well.

"Dreadful," Arthur groaned, leaning back on his bed and grabbing a pillow with his free arm. "This has been the worst Spring Break ever."

"_Well, it's not over yet_," Alfred responded, an audible smile bursting through the phone line. "_There's still plenty of time to have fun!_"

"Alfred, please. Fun isn't possible. Gilbert's throwing this ridiculous party tonight and I just want to be far, far away from everyone."

"_Why? Maybe that's what you need_."

Arthur froze, not completely understanding the direction in which the conversation was heading. "Alfred, what are you saying?"

The American chuckled, his voice filled with a sweet sincerity. "_Go to that party, Arthur, and loosen up a little. Do it for me, okay?_"

Go to the party? Was Alfred insane? Arthur had never been one for parties, only ever attending enough to count on one hand.

Maybe that's what he meant. Sighing, Arthur caved in, unable to resist the sound of the cheery voice. "Fine, I'll do it."

"_Thanks, Arthur. I miss you._"

Arthur smiled, holding the phone closer to his blushing face. "I miss you, too," he whispered, ending the conversation earlier than he ever wanted.

|.|.|.|

Arthur wasn't that surprised to see more flesh than clothing that night in the Great Room; it was a party after all. His plan for the night was to stand in the least populated place in the room, avoiding the gyrating, inebriated forms of the party goers. He was astounded that those three morons had the ability to make this many acquaintances in just two nights of clubbing. Sighing, he glanced over at the liquor table, amazed to see virtually no one there. "I suppose one drink wouldn't be that bad," he told himself, carefully maneuvering his way over to the table.

Stirring the questionable liquid in the bowl, Arthur poured himself a cup of mystery juice, but his first sip was interrupted by a harsh slap to the back.

"Enjoying the night, Artie?"

Eyes to the new mess on the floor, Arthur took a deep breath before shouting angrily. "Well, now that you made me spill my drink, no, Gilbert!"

Red eyes laughed innocently, Gilbert's hand reaching out to get a new cup for his friend. "Sorry, man, didn't see that in your hand," he said, wrapping an arm around the infuriated Briton. "But seriously, this party is fucking awesome."

"Glad to see you think so," Arthur said, finally getting to sip his drink. It had a strong bite to it, but the fruity flavor seemed like a good enough excuse to endure it for at least one cup. "So, are these all people you met in the clubs?"

Laughing and grabbing a cup for himself, Gilbert shook his head triumphantly. "Nope, I think these are all friends of friends of friends. I recognize about five faces in total from the past two nights. Of course, I _was_ pretty damn hammered then," he said, downing the cup of liquor in one gulp. "Why don't you try hitting the dance floor?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, taking another cautious sip from his cup. "Please, Gilbert, spare me the embarrassment."

"Whatever, man. Just try to have _some_ fun, okay?" And in one beat, the silver haired teen had disappeared into the sea of bodies.

Finishing his first cup, Arthur reached for his second cup before he felt that odd pang in his head. "Must be pretty strong stuff," he said, staring at the purple-bluish liquid in his cup. Shrugging it off, he took one more gulp before deciding that maybe he should join in on the dancing. Gilbert actually picked semi-decent music for the night and having some fun this week wouldn't be all that bad. Pouring himself a third cup of whatever, Arthur took a chance and dove into the monster of a crowd.

Arthur found it incredible how magnetic the crowd was, dancing with someone new every ten seconds, sometimes two people at once. Though, he would've preferred to dance alone and in fact, he did just that, ignoring whatever person was grinding in front of or behind him; as long as they let him dance and continue his drink, he didn't care. The heavy beats and psychotic melodies were intoxicating enough. He found himself completely lost in his own world.

But all was broken when his body unknowingly slammed into someone else, his emptied cup falling to the floor to be crushed by stomping feet. Confused, his green eyes widened at the sight of that sickening face. "Francis!"

Blue eyes seemed to be scolding him, scanning every feature on the short blonde's face. "_Pardon moi_," he said in a boorish tone, trying to move through the turbulence.

Arthur would barely let Francis walk away, awkwardly reaching to grab the French teen's wrist and staring him straight in the eye. "No, you s-stupid frog," he yelled in slurred speech. He could've sworn the room had been spinning this whole time.

"Arthur, really, this is no time to…"

"F-fuck you," Arthur screamed, trying his best to get into Francis' face. "I don't deserve to be t-treated like this!"

There was no amusement in Francis' eyes, his lip nearly quivering from a building rage. "And neither do I, this is my home. Now let me through, _s'il te plaît_."

Arthur shot the most powerful glare he could muster, until the music slowed to a new track, the familiar tune numbing the Briton's rage. He looked away, the lyrics like poison to his mind.

"Arthur, if you don't let go, I'll force y-…"

He couldn't stop his tears once they started, looking back into those confused blue eyes with a heartfelt sentiment. "This…is our song," he said through choked sobs, Madonna's "Crazy For You" hitting the entire crowd with a toxic feeling.

Francis took advantage of Arthur's loosened hold on his wrist, shifting his hand to hold the smaller one in it. He smiled softly, something Arthur hadn't seen in almost a year. "_Oui_, it is," he whispered.

What had just hit Arthur was an awful feeling of nostalgia, the song forcing old memories from the cobwebs in his mind and coming out in a torrent of tears. The alcohol, the song, the timing of it all made those lips irresistible. "Francis, I," he started, leaning up to steal a sweet kiss, only to be stopped by a finger.

"Arthur, no," the taller teen said, a sense of regret in his voice. "We are no longer dating. You're with Alfred now, and I cannot have you making a mistake like this."

Arthur shook his head; he didn't want to hear this. "No, Francis, I want you right now," he said, every verse forcing more tears from his eyes. "I miss you."

Perhaps it was the liquor affecting his vision, but Arthur could've sworn he saw Francis falter. Sight wasn't necessary to read that obvious change in Francis' mood, his hand tightening its grip around Arthur's and his free arm wrapping around the Briton's back in a snug hold. "_Moi aussi_," he whispered, leaning in to give Arthur that much desired kiss, even if it was just a small peck on the lips. "You are a very confusing person, Arthur."

"Bastard, you call that a kiss?" Pressing in closer and grabbing the back of Francis' neck, Arthur pulled the startled teen down for a deeper, messier kiss. It was easily tamed by an artful tongue, both muscles moving in sync with the rhythms of the music, the taste of liquor being swept away by sweetness.

The song ended and shifted to another faster tune, the dancing returning to its upbeat thrashing. But for the two locked in each other's arms, there was no music. Their kiss broke and a mutual glance dragged them off the dance floor and down the spiral staircase.

Wrapped tightly in Francis' arms, Arthur barely noticed the other couples downstairs as he was dragged to his room. Hearing the click of the lock echoed in his mind as a sign to resume where they left off upstairs. "Touch me, Francis," he begged, falling onto the bed, his body sprawled out on the sheets.

Francis merely smiled, leaning down to do just as Arthur commanded, touching the drunken Briton with lips and teeth and tongue and fingers, sliding over skin and tearing off clothes.

Arthur's mouth opened with gasps of surprise and whimpers of pleasure, rolling his body up against Francis' mouth on his stomach. Had it really been so long since these hands roamed his body?

"Francis," he cooed through moans, reaching down to tug at blonde strands. But the second Francis reached the throbbing erection below his dirty work, the whole night was tossed into a blur. Thrusts and groans, slamming into walls and swimming in sheets; the long awaited reunion threw Arthur's mind into a whirlwind and before he had a chance to realize what was happening, his closing eyes sent him to sleep with one phrase from Francis echoing in his ears.

"I never stopped loving you."

* * *

**_...to be continued._**

_Hooray! The smexed! But oh-no! What of Arthur's relationship with Alfred! GASP! We shall see...ha ha, thanks for reading, guys!_

_**~erbby**_


	6. Cinq, mardi

_A/N: It's back! And just in time. There's some sex, possible fail!French (remember: I'm rusty), and just...awesome. Also: I still own nothing. Enjoy!_

**

* * *

Cinq, mardi**

A ton of bricks could have fallen on top of Arthur and he would've felt infinitely better than he did when he woke up Tuesday morning. His eyelids, like steal doors over his eyes, slowly opened. The previous night was all but a hazy blur, the loud music causing an annoying ringing in his ears. Groaning, he turned his body to find more comfort before dozing back to sleep which, unfortunately, never happened.

"_Mon cher_," the sleeping blonde beside him mumbled before waking soundlessly to the horrified Briton. "Oh, Arthur, you're awake…"

Arthur's body froze, noticing the lack of clothing on the French teen's body. His mind stopped all processes after realizing his own nudity. But it was that frog's decision to envelop Arthur in his arms that could've been the final bullet to send Arthur to his death.

"Last night was…_magnifique_," Francis said dreamily, nuzzling the crook in Arthur's neck.

Right on cue, Gilbert burst into the room like an alarm clock. "Hey! Time to rise and shine, sleepy- holy _shit_! What the…?"

Francis tightened his hold around Arthur, welcoming his friend with a sleepy smile. "_Bon matin_, Gilbert," he cooed, adding a kiss to Arthur's cheek.

Gilbert's eyes were glued to the naked pair in bed, his face showing a mix of horror, confusion, and delight. Of course, only horror lingered on Arthur's mind, the moment taking a further dip into Hell with one more guest.

"Hey, Gilbert, have you seen Franc-…oh my God…"

At Antonio's entrance, Francis began to place soft kisses on Arthur's neck, the Briton shivering from the incessant love marks.

Before an eternity passed, Arthur nearly jumped out of his own skin, shoving Francis from his body and bolting for the door. He had lost the sense of caring that he was naked anymore; he just wanted to get out of that bed. In the bathroom, he ran into the shower and blasted the cold water until his skin turned white. Slowly but surely, fragments of the previous night began to piece themselves together until Arthur realized his stupid mistake. "What have I done," he chanted, his face buried in his shivering hands.

"Yo, Arthur," Gilbert said, cautiously stepping into the bathroom and peering past the shower curtain. "Are you okay?"

Arthur nearly tore the shower curtain off the rod, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and terror. "I slept with Francis last night, Gilbert. On my own accord! How do you think I feel?" His hand gripped the shower curtain tightly, his shaking body nearly tearing the fabric apart. "I…am a horrible person. I'm a horrible boyfriend!"

"Calm down, Arthur," Gilbert said, walking closer with his hands out, as if to catch Arthur had the Briton suffered a fainting spell. "You're not…"

"YES I AM! I wanted him last night, Gilbert! I…I told him I missed him." Arthur's body suddenly stopped it's shaking, suffering from the shock more so than the cold water, before falling into a heap of self-pity on the shower floor. "What's wrong with me?"

Sighing, Gilbert turned the water off and draped a dry towel over Arthur's shoulders. "Nothing is wrong with you, Arthur," he said, kneeling down and pulling his friend in close. "You just made a stupid mistake, that's all."

"Gilbert, you're not helping."

Shaking a hand over Arthur's wet hair, Gilbert stood up and laughed, looking down at his self-mourning friend with a bright smile. "Well, I tried, and don't ever say I didn't. But still Arthur, you can't let this bother you, okay? I'm gonna go kick Francis out of your bed and burn those sheets. Will that help?"

Arthur curled up tighter in his pitiful ball, nodding as he snuggled deeper into the towel. "Yes," he mumbled, trying to get the now-perfect memories off his mind. If only that damn song never played…

|.|.|.|

Much like his previous days in Paris, Arthur spent most of the day in his room; the only difference was that nothing could distract his mind from the previous night's disaster. All day, his eyes were plastered to the window, staring as clouds moved seamlessly across the sky. With each passing moment, he felt lips on his flesh and heard loving sounds in his ears, sounds that sent his stomach in knots.

It had been a few hours after the shower fiasco when Gilbert joined him in the room, relaying the questionable news of Francis' opinion of the previous night.

"He said he can't stop thinking about you, Arthur," he had said to the immobile Briton. "And I think he's serious. I mean, I heard him talking to Antonio; apparently he wants to get back together with you, clean up the past and start anew. Hey, Arthur, are you even listening to me?"

He was, but chose not to acknowledge his friend. After enough stale silence, Gilbert had left Arthur to curl in a ball on the bed, his body now on the verge of hyperventilation.

It was more than a bad idea to go to France; it was a terrible idea bordering mental suicide. Get back together with Francis? That was absurd; it was just a one night drunken fling, that's all, a fling that had the ability to destroy his current relationship back in the States. Besides, Arthur had long since given up on Francis, hence the reason they broke up. There was nothing that could bring the two back together, neither Francis' amazing bed-manner nor his incredible ability to…

"What's that smell?"

Arthur sat up, the enticing aroma of spices beaconing him from his room and towards the kitchen, his next mistake on this disastrous trip. Spotting the infamous trio at the kitchen table, Arthur walked with caution as that familiar, irresistible smell drove him closer to the table.

"Ah, Arthur," Francis said causally, placing a fourth plate down on the table surface. "How kind of you to join us!"

The Briton glared, his arms crossed firmly across his chest. "I'm not joining you," he responded flatly, finding it hard to not run towards that plate and scoff down a delicious meal.

The other two turned their heads in unison, a large pout on Gilbert's face. "Aw, come on Arthur! Francis worked his ass off to make this dinner for us!"

The French teen smirked and sat down at his seat. "Gilbert, please. This was nothing. Now come join us, Arthur," he said, splaying a hand out toward the fourth, empty seat at the table.

Before his stomach had a chance to growl in hunger, Arthur turned back towards his room. "Not hungry," he said, pressing his hands tightly against his stomach. And before a voice of protest could speak up, he was back in his room, plastered against the closed door.

Damn that French bastard, making Arthur's favorite dish after a night like that. He growled and turned to kick the door in rage before it opened, Francis standing on the other side.

"F-francis?"

The blonde stood in the door frame, that smirk from earlier taking a turn for the worst. "Oh, _mon cher_," he cooed, shaking his head and stepping into the room, shutting the door behind him. "What has gotten into you?" His voice was light, bouncy, teasing; as if he wasn't so much concerned with Arthur's condition as much as getting the best response from him.

Backing up and nearly collapsing upon the bed, Arthur broke out into an immediate sweat of stress and confusion. "What has gotten into _me_? What's gotten into _**you**_! Yesterday, all weekend, for the past goddamned year you couldn't stand the sight of me! And now, after one stupid, drunken mistake, you're all over me like…"

"Do you know how bright-green your eyes get when you're upset," Francis nearly sang, moving in close with an inquisitive look on his face

"No," Arthur screamed, pushing the other teen away and scrambling to the other side of the bed. "Just get out of here. Now!"

Arthur should have realized that his actions were not enough to push Francis away; an animal in heat remained in heat.

Climbing atop the bed with cat-like grace, Francis crawled towards the trembling Briton on the other side. "You call it a drunken mistake," he said, reaching up to grab Arthur's collar, "but was that really the case? Do not play games with me, Arthur."

Arthur was pulled down by an electrifying gravity that brought his lips to Francis', the French teen's lips gently nibbling at Arthur's flesh. And he couldn't resist. Was it nausea? Anxiety? Or was it excitement boiling in the pits of Arthur's stomach? "Francis, stop," he cried, trying to pull away before being pulled down to the bed.

"_Non_. I will not." Francis was perched above Arthur, his eyes scanning every detail of his ex-lover's face. "Do not call last night a mistake, Arthur. It only insults _us_," he smirked, leaning down to latch his mouth against Arthur's neck.

"Wh-what?"

Francis' breath gently tickled his spittle-moistened neck. "We never should've broken up, Arthur. We were both driven by unnecessary judgment which led to our preposterous end."

Arthur had to look away, the sincerity in those blue eyes driving him to believe in those absurd words. "Francis, stop saying…"

"No, because it is true!"

Heartbreak filled Francis' eyes, his voice filled with honesty. It was too much for Arthur to handle, turning his head to avoid falling into the Frenchman's trap.

"Arthur, I have been so pathetically depressed this past year, sleeping with I-don't-even-know-how-many people, and the only person who has ever been on my mind…you. You, Arthur. Even when I despised you…"

"Despise!" Arthur bolted up, pushing Francis away with a glare. "That's a little harsh…"

"…you were the only person I ever wanted," Francis continued, his voice lowering to a whisper and his hand inches from Arthur's cheek. "And last night gave me the hope I needed that this relationship can work again."

Again, the urge to look seeped in, but Arthur couldn't stomach it. This conversation, their first in nearly a year, was the last thing he needed. "But it won't, it can't! Francis, I…"

"Look at me."

Whatever drove Arthur to look was exactly what wanted to see his relationship with Alfred destroyed. Tears threatened to fill his eyes, Francis' fingers all too eager to wipe them dry.

He smiled, and leaned forward to seal a kiss on Arthur's trembling lips. "Do not cry," he whispered upon lips, before it took a deeper dip into passion.

It was much too easy to listen to Francis; his voice and his body just seemed all too good, Arthur's hands eagerly working to tear off his own clothes. Sleek fingers snaked up his skin, Arthur's shirt tearing in two at desperate hands. They continued to explore more of Arthur's flesh, gently slipping into the back of Arthur's pants.

His heart skipping a beat, Arthur looked up into Francis' eyes, his own burning with uncertainty. "Are we…really going to do this again?"

A seductive smile crept on Francis' face, his hand reaching over to the nightstand, where a certain bottle had been resting since the previous night. "_Oui_," he whispered, the hand in Arthur's pants quickly working to remove them and toss them across the room. "_Tes jambes_," he puffed out in delicate wisps of vocal air, a finger stroking Arthur from his rump, up his thigh, and under his knee.

Completely naked and vulnerable to those hungry eyes, Arthur felt a shiver jolt up his leg, through his groin, and stop to throb in his chest. Francis always had a habit switched to French in bed; and although Arthur couldn't stand the language or understand it properly, he didn't need that ability to read the signs from Francis. Uncurling them slowly, Arthur stretched out his legs, Francis' hand becoming unnecessarily acquainted with them before retreating to unscrew the top of the bottle.

Arthur watched intently as Francis dabbed a small amount of the lubricant on his finger, only to toss the bottle aside like the British teen's pants. The same spark from earlier was nearly boiling in his chest, a mix of anxiety and excitement throttling his nerves. "Francis," he started to say, his voice trembling.

"_Calme-toi_," Francis said, not bothering to meet with Arthur's eyes. His lubricated finger sleekly slid over Arthur's entrance, his free hand guiding the Briton's lanky legs into the air. A deep chortle hidden beneath his breath, Francis kept his finger lightly hovering over Arthur's twitching heat before finally slipping it in with another.

Trying his best to suppress his moans, Arthurs squirmed like a restless pup on the bed, his feet and toes swirling in random circles in the air. Francis had a way of driving him to a maddening point of impatience and he despised the teasing more than ever. But once fingers were finished, the long awaited appendage made its nightly debut, thrusting deep into Arthur's eager body to a chorus of moans. His legs fell over Francis' shoulders before slipping down his legs and resting over his blue-eyed lover's arms.

Rhythms changed and keys escalated and Francis leaned down, stealing a kiss from those tired lips, his hips twitching forward and back. "_Je t'aime_," he continuously chanted, planting kisses upon Arthur's lips and nose and neck and chest. His breaths were as sporadic as Arthur's cries, the duo falling into complete sync with one another.

Arthur tried to hold back, realizing his climax would mark the end of this incredible night, but it was always hard to avoid the impossible. Craning his neck back to release an ultimate cry, Arthur could feel his seed spill about their stomachs, Francis' filling him not long after.

And both collapsed, completely spent and breathless. Francis' head lay on Arthur's chest, rising and falling with the Briton's catching breaths. Arthur's fingers weaved in and out of golden curls before his eyes shut close to a night of mutual serenity.

* * *

_THANKS FOR READING! Stay tuned for some more "development". ;D_

**_~erbby_**


	7. Six, mercredi  Le jour

_A/N: Seriously, the only reason this chapter is up so quick is because part of it I wrote a WHILE ago. Also, it's Bastille Day & "_**mercredi**_"...as today is ironically Wednesday...will be broken up into 2 separate chapters. So! Enjoy! And remember that I own nothing. :3_

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**Six, mercredi – Le jour**

The French sun proved to be a formidable alarm clock of nature, peeking through the window's satin sheets and shining brightly upon Arthur's eyes. A tired moan escaped his lips and he clung tighter to the warm bulk in his arms, twirling his fingers through soft hairs. He glanced down at his chest, spotting Francis' sleeping face and smiled, settling back against the pillows for another hour or so of sleep.

Arthur felt so comfortably content, but before his eyes completely closed, his mind whirled back to reality. "Shit," he screamed, trying his hardest to squirm out from underneath the snoozing French teen, waking him up in the process. Scrambling on the ground, Arthur immediately found his pants and slipped them on, an agitated moan distracting him from buttoning his fly.

"Arthur, it's too early to be this rough."

He stared at Francis, toppled in the sheets and looking seductively tired. He turned, unable to stomach that face. "We did it again, Francis," he cried, digging through his bag for a top; he rather liked the one he wore yesterday and cursed that it had to be destroyed for sex. "How could I let this happen again? And after the other night!"

"Do not fret, _mon amour_," he heard in his ear, arms magically appearing at his sides and wrapping around his chest.

The feeling of Francis' bare body pressed up against his only brought back mistaken memories, ones that should be forever shoved into the depths of his closet. "Francis, don't do this to me," he said, pushing his lover away. Frantically, he pulled on a T-shirt and reached towards the nightstand for his wrist watch. "I'm going for a walk."

Francis' hand gripped his wrist, pulling him back for a suffocating kiss. "What am I doing to you, hmm," he said with a flick of the tongue, his face reeking of arrogance, a sort that filled Arthur with disgust.

He slapped that greedy hand away, glaring straight into blue eyes. "You bastard, you know damn well what you're doing. Now get out of my fucking room."

"But this is _my_…"

"I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Francis stared, his face calming with caution, before gathering his clothes and hurriedly walking out of the room. "_Bien sûr_," he said, shutting the door loudly.

Feeling the quiver in his chest, Arthur collapsed to the floor, trying his hardest not to cry. All of this was getting too much for his mind to handle, and it had been two days since he last talked to Alfred. But how could he talk to him again, now that his body was soiled by infidelity? And when Francis felt so…

"Hey, do you mind if I come in?"

Perking up his head, Arthur spotted Antonio hanging in his doorway, a guilt-ridden smile on his face. "Antonio?"

The tan teen chuckled, stepping into Arthur's room awkwardly. "Gilbert and I couldn't help but overhear. Do you wanna go out for a walk of something?"

Arthur hadn't really known Antonio all that well, but this little bout of selflessness brought a smile to the Briton's face. "Actually, I was just going to do that myself. Let me grab my sweater."

|.|.|.|

Alone time with Antonio was quite a refreshing change of pace for this Spring Break. Arthur adored his optimistic attitude and the love he held for his own boyfriend back at school. Arthur only ever knew Antonio as Gilbert's annoying friend since freshman year, but this walk throughout Paris gave the Spanish-born, New York City-raised teen a new persona in Arthur's eyes.

"And you two have been dating for how long?"

Antonio laughed, a pink flush filling his face. "Almost two years, now," he said, his bright green eyes gazing at the sky. "I'm so lucky to be with Lovi. He's perfect."

Sighing, Arthur could only feel more guilt invade his mind, thoughts of his seven months with Alfred seeming more bitter than sweet. "I know what you mean," he said inaudibly, his eyes downcast towards the sidewalk.

"Ah, look! The Eiffel Tower!"

Another spark flared in Arthur's chest, his head immediately perking up and his eyes shifting to gaze upon the iron structure. Arthur's mind nearly lost all control, a certain memory of ten years passed surfacing at the sight of the Parisian icon…

_It's the type of beauty that simply cannot be expressed in words; the view from the Eiffel Tower's second level observation deck. Night so expertly casts its darkness over the city of Paris and thousands of buildings illuminate in a romantic spectacle that can only compare to the night sky. Those on the tower are welcomed to witness the sight of the world's most romantic city at its finest, but one young boy experienced a far more breathtaking treat on a chilly February night._

_Arthur's green eyes reflected those sparkling lights in his wide, wondrous eyes. "It's beautiful," he whispered, eager to capture more of the city's influence in his glance._

"Oui, c'est vrai_," a soft voice replied, startling the boy and waking him from his lapse into fantasy._

_He would've yelled, angered by the disruption of a dream come true, but the source of the voice may have been even more beautiful than the city of Paris itself. Arthur stared, unable to find the words in his limited vocabulary to describe this creature's splendor._

_Coyly, the young child giggled and walked over towards Arthur, taking hold of the boy's gloved hands. "_Bonsoir_," the child said, blue eyes clear in the crisp winter air and long blonde hair waving in the night's gentle wind._

_Arthur was shot down once more, his knowledge of the country's language nonexistent in his young mind. "Ah," he started to speak, his eyes drifting to spot the delicate hands wrapped in cream gloves, a stark contrast to the dark color covering his own hands. Looking back into the French beauty's eyes, he felt his cheek sting with blush, not due to the chill in the air. "I can't…speak French," he said, embarrassed by his inability to swoon such a bounty._

_Laughter responded to his admittance of failure, those light gloved hands squeezing his hands tightly. "That is okay, I know a little English," the child said, songlike tones swirling into Arthur's smitten brain._

"_O-oh," Arthur said, desperate for his mind to start working properly. "That's…that's good."_

_There was only more laughter and Arthur couldn't muster up the confidence to take another glance at that porcelain-perfect face. Fortunately, he didn't even need it. With incredible skill, one of those delicate gloved hands found its way under his chin, lifting it for perfect eye contact._

"_I see. You are shy, _non_?"_

_This was not the night for Arthur: his view of the city disrupted, losing his cool in front of a French beauty, and being called out on it. "A-am not," he yelled, showing much defense for his fragile ego. _

_But the beauty simply smiled and leaned forward, placing an immaculate kiss on those fumbling lips. "_Mais, je pense que vous êtes mignon_, shy or not," the beauty said in a voice only for Arthur's ears. _

_Arthur could feel the electric shiver up his spine, the rest of his body numb from his very first romantic experience. But it was cut short, the beauty's attention being called away from the moment._

"_Francis! _Viens-ici_!"_

"Oui, Maman_," the child called out. Blue eyes gazed over Arthur once more and gave a farewell wink. "_Adieu_. I hope to meet you again…"_

_The beauty began to run off, waving good-bye with the wind, but Arthur couldn't let his dreams vanish so quickly. "Arthur," he yelled out, making those blue eyes widen with curiosity. "Arthur…Kirkland. It's m-my name, so…"_

_Just one more smile before being called away once more, the blonde nodded and blew a kiss. "_Enchanté_, Arthur."_

_Never had his name sounded so beautiful, wrapped and embroidered in the tones of such an angel's voice. He sighed in disappointment before realizing, with a sort of horror, what he just experienced._

"_Th-that," he began to say, stuttering over his words and bringing his hands to his lips. "That was my…first kiss…"_

"_Arthur, there you are! Hurry, we're going to be late for dinner," a familiar voice called, followed by the tight grasp of his mother's hand on his wrist. _

_Again, his mind had left him. He was nearly being dragged by his mother to the lifts to the ground level, and even though French cuisine was a favorite of his, Arthur could hardly concentrate on his dinner. His mind and heart had been snatched by a French angel; he had to get them back somehow…_

Of course, Arthur never intended on releasing the memory to Antonio, the Spanish teen staring with wide eyes at the Briton.

"Wait, you've known Francis for that long?"

Arthur took in a deep breath, his eyes unable to look away from Eiffel Tower. "Well, we merely _met_ back then. It wasn't until Gilbert's party two years ago that…" His voice fell, that fallen relationship feeling all too sweet in his mind.

Antonio kept silent before a soft laugh broke it. "That's weird, though, that the two of you would meet again at The Academy."

Arthur nodded, looking back towards his companion of the day. "Weird, yes," he whispered, only to have his vision return to the iron tower. For so many years, Francis haunted his mind, the vision of "the French beauty" invading his dreams nearly every night until sophomore year, when the near impossible happened. He always figured his first love would remain lost, never expecting to face it again (and in all honesty, never expecting it to turn out to be male). And to have that love destroyed the way it did, a break-up that tore at Arthur's heart for months afterwards. The pain in Arthur's chest grew, unable to resist a forbidden desire.

"Arthur, you probably don't want to hear this," Antonio started to say after a bout of silence, his voice sounding a bit meek. "But I really think you two should get back together."

A searing heat suddenly rose upon Arthur's cheeks, one of utter rage. "Excuse me?"

Taken aback, Antonio nearly curled up into himself. "It's just…that story; I can't help but think you two were meant to be together. And your break-up was so bizarre and ridiculous…"

"_Bizarre_? How dare you? You have no say in this matter," Arthur screamed, his blood near the boiling point. Arthur needed no one to tell him how to solve his current dilemma, especially not the dull-witted advice of Antonio. "I never should've gone with you," he cursed beneath his breath, turning away.

"Wait a minute, Arthur," Antonio pleaded, reaching out his hand to turn Arthur back.

Arthur's hand went for the attack, smacking Antonio's with brute force before he spat his final words. "Don't fucking touch me!" And before a remark could be shot back, Arthur had bolted down the street into the unknown.

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_I know, I'm a bit evil. What will happen to Arthur now that he's all alone in Paris? O: Wait and see! ;D  
Thanks for reading! (hearts)_

_**~erbby** _


	8. Sept, mercredi Le soir

_A/N: Back! And just shy of a month later. But's it's been busy, I guess. xD Here's the conclusion of Arthur's little Paris scene with Antonio! Please enjoy and remember that I own nothing. ;D_

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**Sept, mercredi – Le soir**

_"You know, I really like you, Arthur. And I was kinda hoping that…we could go out sometime…"_

_ "So you're the infamous Arthur Kirkland. Well, _bonsoir, mon cher_. I have been waiting to meet you…"_

Like combating stereos, Alfred's and Francis' voices screeched in Arthur's mind, each memory forcing a new flood of tears to pour over stinging cheeks. He could barely see his surroundings, vision blocked by emotion and the threat of dusk, which somehow lead him to the banks of the Seine. He stopped, fiercely wiping his eyes dry with his sleeve and trying to regain his bearings. "Shit," he swore to himself, turning his head frantically. "How do I get back to that bloody apartment?"

With a swift turn of the head, Arthur received a less than favorable answer; two seemingly drunken men wobbled towards him, their appearance thick with the scent of hard liquor. At this moment, Arthur regretted ever freaking out at Antonio.

"_C'est Burberry, non_?" He heard one of them whisper in a French slur, an obvious reference to his designer cardigan. Remembering the rather expensive watch on his wrist, a hand-me down from his father, Arthur realized he would most likely get mugged in the next few minutes.

Running for it wouldn't help; he was stuck between two high stone walls and a noteworthy river, and with the chill of the evening, jumping in was not on his agenda. But before his mind could formulate a better escape route, one of the men grabbed his wrist, loosening the watch and tearing it off with a swift punch to the stomach.

"_Merci_," they said in a cackle over the chorus of his hacking, the force of their punch sending him to the ground. In seconds he was back up, hanging in the watch-thief's arms, the other taller man taking his turn for the beating.

Was this his punishment? His repentance for his sin of infidelity? Each blow to his chest, each thread pulled from his sweater was a reminder of how awful a person he truly was. _"This is what I get for coming to France…"_

And just before his vision faded to black, the beatings stopped. Glancing up through swollen eyes, he saw his one attacker plummet to the ground and the refreshing sight of fierce blue eyes.

"Francis," he choked, his body jerking back as the watch-thief tried to dart away from the three new guests. But the look in Francis' eyes revealed the man would not be getting far and with one swift punch, the man was on the ground and Arthur curled up in the French teen's arms, Gilbert and Antonio there as back-up to complete the beatings.

Arthur looked up, Francis' face warping between rage and fear. He reached up, eager to validate if those were really tears coming from the other blonde's eyes. His shaking fingers stretched, one warm tear drop slipping onto his skin and rolling towards his hand before evaporating into oblivion.

Francis' face flinched, his adrenaline kick not preparing him for the gentle movements of Arthur's finger. "_Tu es bête, _Arthur! What is wrong with you?"

Arthur smiled meekly, his lips only able to reach so far. "You're crying," he whispered, leaning in to kiss a tear stained cheek. "Thank you."

Francis clutched Arthur's head close to his chest, his body shaking fiercely before turning to call off the beating. "Gilbert, Antonio, _allons-y_!"

In one swift move, Francis cradled the bruised and bleeding Briton in his arms, walking towards the main roads with the other two tailing behind.

|.|.|.|

"_Mon cher_, are you all clean?"

Arthur's reflexes shot his hands out to cover his bare chest, his bath interrupted by the leering Francis. "I said I'd tell you when I was ready, frog!"

Chuckling, Francis strolled into the bathroom and a leaned over, placing a kiss atop his British lover's head. "_Desolé_, I forgot," he said, reaching over to unplug the tub and lift the lanky Briton from the disappearing water. "Gilbert is growing impatient, that is why."

"F-francis! Put me down," Arthur cried, squirming in the amused French teens hands. He was not expecting _this_ after such an incident, but Gilbert had decided to call off the party they were planning for the night and instead, movie night was declared. And thus a carefree attitude floated within the apartment. Perhaps this was needed after seeing Francis in such a state; sheer anger was not an emotion that suited the romantic.

Francis smiled and, with expert skill, wrapped Arthur's drying body snug inside a silk robe, gently tying the straps together at the front. "I believe you are ready," he said, stealing Arthur's lips in a warm kiss.

He was so hard to resist, the taste of his French tongue like a drug pulsating through Arthur's veins. Arthur gathered all of his strength to pull back, taking a deep breath of stale sanity before looking into Francis' eyes. "R-right," he stuttered, tightly held in Francis' arms.

Eventually, the two left the bathroom and entered the living room to whistles and catcalls from Gilbert and Antonio.

"Someone's looking sexy in floral patterned silk," the silver-haired German native said with a laugh.

Arthur merely shot a stinging glare towards his friend, his glance shifting to Antonio. A guilt-ridden pout invaded Arthur's face, the day's event rather fresh in his mind. "Antonio, I…"

"Don't worry about it," the cheery teen answered, as if to read Arthur's intentions. "Just don't run into trouble like that again. You're too cute for a black eye like that."

A blush threatened Arthur's face, Francis' lips soon making contact with that light bruise beneath Arthur's left eye. He didn't deserve this kind of treatment; the teasing, the sympathy, the passion, but it was hard to resist, especially with Francis' arms guiding him towards the abandoned edge of the couch.

"So, what movie are we watching?"

"Die Hard," Gilbert cried, triumphantly hitting the play button.

Arthur laughed, noting the movie to be a guilty pleasure favorite between the two of them; it wasn't that they liked the movie that much, but Alan Rickman's performance was difficult to dislike. "Nice choice," he chuckled, nuzzling into the comfort of Francis' arms.

Well over an hour and multiple gunshots into the film, the foursome became rather comfortable on the couch, and a bout of excitement puffed passed Gilbert's lips. "Man, I can't wait to have nights like these in New York," he said, leaning back with his arms stretched over the backrest.

Arthur craned his neck forward, curiosity springing up at the sound of that sentence. "New York? What do you mean?"

A silence invaded the room, its force strong enough to block out the sound of the television. "I thought I told you," Gilbert said, confusion lingering on his face.

"Told me? Told me what?"

Wet lips tickled Arthur's ear, his eyes darting back to meet the guilt in Francis' azure orbs. "Come August, the three of us are renting an apartment in New York City. Antonio's almost finished the arrangements," he said softly, as if the conversation were just for two.

"You three are living in New York? Together?" For the first time all evening, Arthur felt like he was intruding on a private affair. Obviously this trip to France was more than just a way of spending Spring Break; it was a celebration of an even bigger party, in an even bigger city. He sunk back into his skin, hoping to God that he would disappear. "What about school? The three of you…aren't going to college?"

"I'm taking a year off," Antonio choked out.

It took a bit longer for Gilbert to get his words out, his scarlet eyes dulling in color. "You know me, Arthur. I didn't even want to go to High School."

"But you have such a brilliant mind, Gilbert! Why are you wasting it?"

"I'm not wasting it," he spat back, power finally resurging to that crimson color. "I just…want to get away."

There truly was a growing gap between the two, Arthur's relationship with Alfred leaving him blind to the most obvious of facts. He lowered his head, accepting the bitter truth. "Good luck, then," he said, unaware of Francis' tightening hold.

"There's room for one more," Francis whispered, a hidden desire in his voice.

Arthur could only shake his head, all too eager to end the conversation and never return to it. "No, there isn't. I'll be in England, in Oxford. And it took all the blood, sweat, and tears I could muster to get into that damn school," he said, wringing the silken robe in his quivering hands.

"It's not too late to switch, _oui_?"

Arthur's head whipped back with terrifying speed, a green glare piercing Francis in the chest. "I'm not switching."

"Why not," Antonio asked, inching closer to the shrinking Briton.

"No! End of subject, no more! You three…enjoy your time in New York. I'm sure you'll have fun without me."

"_Bien sûr_," Francis replied with a kiss, resting his chin on Arthur's shoulder and holding him tight.

There was so much in the topic of the New York apartment, and Arthur's heart ached to be with them, but that would mean one thing would happen for sure; his relationship with Alfred would end.

Arthur let his mind distract itself with the ending of the film, something the other three seemed to do as well. They were in Paris now, and any talk of the future could be saved for after this priceless moment.

Long after the movie and well into the early morning, all four fell asleep on the couch, Arthur's small frame tucked safely in Francis' arms.

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_Oh, what is Arthur to do? Find out. Next chapter. XD Thanks for reading! :D_

_**~erbby**_


	9. Huit, jeudi

_A/N: Yes! It's another update! And none too sooner, huh? Sorry, school just started up 3 weeks ago so I've been getting in the swing of things here, so I'll be very very busy, but this fic is close to it's ending, and hopefully I won't slack off on the next 3 (approximately) chapters. Please enjoy this chapter, despite all the incredibly-long-may-as-well-be-run-on-sentences. Heh heh, yeah. ALSO, be wary of some sexual content throughout the chapter. Thanks for reading and staying with me! Please, enjoy. :D_

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**Huit, jeudi**

Arthur wasn't quite sure if he was awake or not, but the dim sound of a peculiar succession of notes pushed him further out of sleep. He groaned, tucked tightly in Francis' arms, noticing the other two teens deep in sleep on the couch as well. He smiled at the trio around him, before realizing the distant tune was his cell phone in the other room, ringing incessantly. "Shit," he swore, tearing himself free from Francis and bolting towards his bedroom for the phone. Immediately recognizing the number, he flipped the phone open, hoping Alfred was still there to talk to him on the other line. "H-hello?"

"_Oh cool, you're awake_."

"Y-yes, I could say the same about you. What… what time is it over there?"

There was a pause. "_A little past 5 AM; I can't really sleep right now, sorry_," he said, his shame obvious through the phone. "_I just can't wait for you to come back home. A-and, I didn't want to call you in case you were doing something, but I just couldn't help it; I miss you so much, Arthur_."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat, his face flushing a furious red. "O-oh, I'm s-sorry," he stuttered, trying to find his voice and cover up any sound of guilt. "I… should have called you."

"_No, it's cool. So, are you having a better time? Last we talked, you seemed completely miserable_."

"W-well, actually…"

And then Arthur's "better time" snuck up behind him, resting weightless arms on his hips and nipping gently on his free ear. Arthur nearly screamed, but with Alfred on the phone, it seemed a bad idea. He swallowed a rock of guilt before completely answering his boyfriend. "Y-yes, I managed to have fun at the party that night. Antonio and I even… t-took a walk throughout Paris yesterday."

Every word that came from Arthur's mouth was met with a devilish action by Francis; his mouth chose to become familiar with Arthur's collarbone, his hands working effortlessly to undo the loosened ties on the silken robe.

"_That's great! Sounds better than my week, haha_."

"Oh, well, d-don't say that." And the guilt seeped further into Arthur's pores, Francis' slim fingers greedy for a taste of the Briton's flesh. "A-ah well! I should… g-go. We're going out again and… well, I'll talk to you later?"

"_Oh, sure! And you're flying out tomorrow, right_?"

Francis' finger skillfully slipped up Arthur's thigh, his other fingers gently tickling and dancing upon trembling flesh. "Y-yes! Tomorrow night. I'll give you a call then, okay?"

"_Sounds great. Love you, Arthur. I can't wait to see you_."

Arthur could barely get a word out, his body too eager to moan, now that Francis had grabbed hold of his excited member down below. "L-love you, too," he croaked out, the lump in his throat swelling to a larger size than ever imagined.

The clicking sound of Alfred hanging up signaled Arthur to toss the phone back at Francis, his rage and embarrassment throwing him over the edge. "You bloody moron, I was on the phone with Alfred!"

Dodging the messy-haired blonde with style and grace, Francis' hands slicked upwards, grabbing Arthur by the hips from under the robe. "_Je sais_, but I was hoping you would hang up sooner than that," he said, smirking and stealing those lips in a kiss before they could protest.

As if immediately forgetting Alfred's existence, Arthur sank deep into Francis' taste, the silk robe slipping off his arms and falling to the floor. Arthur was scooped up in Francis' arms, only to be tossed gently upon the mattress and straddled like prey to a starving lion; or rather, frog.

Propped on hands and knees above the freshly woken and nude Arthur, the look plastered on Francis' face was one of biting hunger, his mouth swooping down to paint roses on Arthur's pale canvas of skin.

Arthur's mind swirled in a fury of arousal, the sounds trembling from his throat permitting Francis' hands to further explore his flesh; but it seemed a little too much for breakfast. "W-wait, Francis, stop…"

Gliding his thin nose up Arthur's chest, Francis glanced up, feigned innocence in his eyes. "_Ouais_," he moaned over a perky nipple, his tongue encircling the pink flesh.

"I said _stop_!" Arthur sat up abruptly, pushing the hungry frog off his vulnerable body. "Francis, I," he paused, unable to stomach the words about to come from his mouth, shame hitting him from all directions. "I don't even know…what I'm doing anymore." Nearly collapsing into his hurricane of emotions, Arthur curled up on the bed, holding his head in trembling hands. "It's best if you just…"

"_Je comprends, mon cher_," he mumbled, leaning down and sneaking a kiss past the barricade of English fingers. "_Je t'aime_."

Arthur could feel the smile on Francis' lips as he spoke, the sad understanding piercing the Briton through his sinful heart. The sound of the shutting door cued Arthur's body to unravel on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Alfred was back home, counting the seconds until Arthur's plane touched American soil, all too eager to take his English lover in his arms until school started up on Monday. There lay Arthur, juggling between his current relationship and a past love now renewed.

How on Earth could Arthur ever do that to Alfred, the boy who opened up his heart and broke the norms of his Texas family's values for this scrawny, bitter young man? He shut his eyes tight, until his eyelids stung with pain. Francis…

It was a stupid break-up, indeed; one of fights, misunderstandings, assumptions, and the ultimate red light, infidelity. Now Arthur was committing the same sin Francis committed against him, but to his new boyfriend instead. "What in God's name is wrong with you, Arthur Kirkland," he groaned, rolling over to stare at his mess of clothing vomiting from his suitcase. Francis touched every piece of that luggage this weekend; tossed it across the room, ripped it from his body, drenched in his scent. Was the sex really worth it? Or could have Antonio's words from the other day been true?

The debate continued to plague his mind; stay with Alfred or return to Francis?

|.|.|.|

"Hey, Arthur? Are you in there?"

Arthur's green eyes twitched open to the darkness of his room and the booming bass from above. Looking around the room, he spotted the glow of lights from a story above outside his bedroom window. _Their farewell party_, he thought to himself, the knocking on his door growing progressively louder with Gilbert's impatient voice.

"Arthur! What the hell, man, open up!"

Gathering the fallen robe on the floor and slipping into it, he made his way towards the door and opened it partway. "Sorry, Gilbert," he said, frantically tying the robe closed around his naked form. "I must have fallen asleep."

Gilbert's lips twisted in a show of confusion and disgust, his brow furrowing formidably above his nose. "All day? I know Francis said not to bother you, but seriously, you've had to have spent half of the trip locked up in here," he said, pushing the door open and turning on a lamp for some much needed light.

Arthur wished to melt in with the walls, his mind still foggy and confused from his earlier mental debate. "Sorry," he mumbled, eyes locked on his feet.

"You gonna join the party, or what?"

Arthur sighed, shutting his eyes tight and trying to block out the roaring music from the room upstairs. "I really don't want to, Gilbert, I have a lot on my mind, and…"

"I know," the silver-haired teen interrupted, not bothering to make eye contact with his best friend. "But I invited you here for a reason, so just party with us one last time, okay?"

Gilbert's words lingered in Arthur's mind, and the Briton cocked his head to the side, approaching his long time friend with caution. "Why _did_ you invite me to Paris, Gilbert?"

It was a rarity to see Gilbert Beilschmidt's ego collapse so easily, to see him revert into that shy child to whom Arthur was first introduced nine years ago. The German native twitched, his cheeks a deep shade of red as he tried to blurt out the words hanging from his tongue. "I already told you, I miss hanging out with you, that's why," he said softly.

"Gilbert, you said that already, before we left."

Sighing, Gilbert returned his gaze to his friend, a crooked smile and an innocent face revealing that certain bit of hidden information. "_And_, um, I was kind of hoping that… you and Francis would get back together, somehow…"

Arthur had no words, filling the biting silence that followed. He simply stared at Gilbert, before the other teen felt the awkward tension and left the room with a hurried and quiet, "I'll be upstairs."

The tallies for getting back together with Francis were now against Arthur, his mind going through a more tumultuous state than previously. Reflexively quick, he dressed and ran upstairs, without even figuring out his reason why. He scanned the room, passed all the bright lights and raving tunes, the drunken bodies swaying like waves on the sea of the dance floor. His mind was still a blank chaos, and Arthur had no idea for what he was searching, until that something grabbed his shoulder and forced his head to turn and gaze into calm, blue orbs.

"Francis," he managed to say before a finger delicately forced his lips closed.

"Do not speak," Francis whispered, but the soft sound of his voice managed to slip past the music and into Arthur's ears. "Do not think, just come with me."

There was no need to resist; Arthur followed Francis down the spiral stairs and into the opposite hallway, towards the French teen's bedroom. He could hear the faint voice of his conscious telling him not to go, to pry his arm from Francis' tender grip and bury the happenings of the past few days deep beneath his memory. But the rushing speed of his heart and the way Francis closed the bedroom door and pinned Arthur against it, staring into those confused green eyes with somber certainty, kept Arthur in the moment.

"Arthur…" His name floated off Francis' tongue, filled with a sweet melody that would take ages to get out of his head.

As Francis' hand hovered over Arthur's hip, Arthur took in a deep breath, his voice fluttering with the air filling his lungs. The voice in his head could protest all it wanted, but Arthur wouldn't care to listen, craving his ex-lover's touch. "Francis, I," Arthur said, leaning forward before being pushed back against the door, a thin sheet of air separating the two needy bodies.

"No speaking," Francis muttered, his forehead pressed gently against Arthur's. "I need you to listen; I love you, more than I ever thought I could. I will never be able to repent for the horrible things I did against you, for the way I treated you and our relationship when you were under such incredible amounts of stress. But you need to know that I… I am so deeply sorry for everything; for helping to destroy our relationship and yours currently with Alfred. I…"

Francis paused, turning his head to the side to let out a pathetic sounding laugh. "I am a terrible person, Arthur. Why am I so destructive?"

"Stop," Arthur said, choking on his desperate tears and turning Francis' head to look in his eyes once more. "Please, just stop it." His lips moved in words before moving to Francis', soft kisses and weightless arms enveloping the long-haired blonde.

Not even his own words could stop Francis from drinking up this taste, his hands tight on Arthur's hips and working on removing the Briton's pants. His fingers danced down Arthur's freshly exposed thighs, teasing the clothing down to the floor and wrapping around thighs, holding up his green-eyed lover against the door. "This is not fair to Alfred," he mumbled against Arthur's neck.

"You say this now," Arthur said in a breath, rolling his hips between the door and Francis' groin, "after sleeping with me twice this week."

A sly smile swam across Francis' face, his mouth closing in to silence Arthur. "_C'est vrai_," he said into a deep, wet kiss.

It didn't take long for Francis to release his own erection from the confines of his pants, grinding up against Arthur with increased force and need. His one hand pinned Arthur's wrists' against the door above the shaggy-haired blonde's head, his other cradling his lover's thigh in case those legs loosened their hold around his body.

The discomfort of his position against the door faded as Arthur's body began to focus more on Francis' constant touching and thrusting, kissing and probing. Arthur let out a cacophony of sounds, loud enough to shake the partying up above, once Francis slipped deep inside him.

That's when all thoughts of Alfred disappeared, replaced by feeling alone, by the sheer pleasure of that single moment. His arms dropped from the door to dangle over Francis' shoulders while his lips randomly nipped at random spots of flesh. His voice gave tired moans and gasps, the pounding bass of the party driving Francis to a certain rhythm, bringing Arthur to that inevitable release.

He fell limp in Francis' hold, continuously being thrust up against the door before Francis could reach his climax and cradle the Briton in his weakened arms. Arthur's legs fell to the ground and his knees nearly buckled and brought his whole body crashing down.

"_Mon cher_," Francis whispered in a kiss against his temple, sweeping Arthur up in his arms and carrying him to the bed. Placing Arthur down upon the lush, burgundy and gold embroidered sheets, Francis slipped off the other blonde's shirt and lay beside him, tracing the Briton's chest with dry kisses.

Arthur could sense the rest of the night, could feel the surge of pleasure rock in and out until the sun would rise. He reached down, catching a curl of Francis' hair and twirling it around his trembling finger, blue eyes looking up at the tug.

Francis smiled, and crawled up onto of Arthur, soft breath rolling over the green-eyed blonde's cheek and slipping into his ear. "Do you regret sleeping with me this week?"

A faint dusting of blush followed the softness of Francis' breath on Arthur's cheek and he nearly choked on his words. "_Je ne regrette rien_," he whispered with a smirk, he voice attempting the allure of French.

Chuckling softly, smiling blue stars stared into Arthur's eyes, and Francis placed a kiss upon Arthur's brow. "_Tu es mignon…_"

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...to be continued._**

_What I would give to make a Edith Piaf reference, huh? Haha, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! And thanks for the response this fic has received since it's first been up. I means so much to have people truly immersed in this "teenage soap opera" I have whipped up, haha. So thank you. I love you all so much. :D_

**_~erbby_**


	10. Neuf, vendredi

_A/N: Back pretty soon with the next installment of Spring Break! Of course, this chapter marks the foursome's final day in Paris. Thanks for reading, guys! And remember, I own nothing! Nothing much to warn for this chapter, just a lot of kissing (oh my!) and some language here and there. Enjoy!_

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Neuf, vendredi**

There was an absence of warmth when Arthur woke up in the mess of Francis' bed sheets. He had expected his French lover to be there, snug tight against his flesh where Arthur last remembered him after their umpteenth time making love.

Sitting up to stretch and yawn, he spotted the bedroom door cracked open, the jumbled noise of his friends echoing from the living room out past the hall. Before he could even think of stepping out of bed, Francis perked his head into the room, a warm smile infecting the aura of the room.

"_Bon matin_," he sang, waltzing into the room to plant a kiss on Arthur's forehead. "We are cleaning right now, and I already packed your things."

Slightly baffled by the string of news, Arthur tilted his head, as if to process the information better. "O-oh?" Of course, it was then when he realized they were flying back to the States that night. "Oh! That's right," he said, tempting to expose a leg from the sheet to escape his comfortable position.

Francis seemed to disagree with Arthur's decision, keeping the Briton in bed for some late-morning kisses. "I have your outfit for today all set," he whispered against moist lips, patting an area of the bed now covered by a pair of ripped jeans and a printed T-shirt. "And there is some breakfast left over for you in the kitchen."

In one blink of Arthur's tired eyes, Francis was already out in the hallway. A gentle smile spread across his face, along with the warmth of blush, and his eyes focused on the clothing lying on the bed. He grabbed the t-shirt, and before slipping it on over his head, took in a deep breath of the cloth, reveling in the scent of Francis.

Arthur was out in the kitchen soon after his wake-up call, bags of trash lined by the door. "Those can't all from the party last night," he said, sitting down at the table, welcomed by a hot cup of tea.

Zooming down the spiral stairs with two more bags in his hands, Gilbert added to the collection by the door. "Nah, from the Monday, too."

"You left upstairs a mess for four days?"

Gilbert glared at his friend. "Well, what would be the point in cleaning? Anyway, we're done here. So eat up, because we're heading out!"

"Heading out? Our flight's not until later tonight," Arthur said, a plate of breakfast placed before him on the table and a kiss planted atop his head.

"Gilbert wants the four of us to see Paris one last time," Francis explained. "Together."

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The limo let the foursome out onto the busy streets of Paris, abundant with Springtime tourists and regular citizens alike. There was a slight chill in the late March air, but with his jacket and the arm of Francis around him, Arthur had little to worry about his temperate comfort.

They came upon a quaint street lined with little family-owned shops and a well-known pâtisserie, which received quite a welcome from the four teens. A sampling led to a purchase and the four shared a flaky, pastry desert; a dollop of whipped frosting managed to find Arthur's nose, but a clean sweep from Francis' tongue cleaned it right off.

Fully embarrassed by the laughs from his friends and stares from other shop patrons, the young Briton stormed out of the shop, standing on the street corner as if he knew no one.

"Arthur," Francis called, an innocent laugh tickling his voice. "_Désolé_, I…"

"No! Don't," Arthur yelled, a pout resting heavy beneath bright red cheeks. "That was completely inappropriate, and you should know better than to…"

Arthur's scolding was cut short, by another sort of action that could warrant a yell from the Briton. Francis' lips locked Arthur's shut in a deep, sincere kiss, the French teen's arm wrapped tight around his lover's frame, in case the bushy-browed youth fell to the ground.

"I am sorry," he whispered, a delicate voice stopping Arthur's thought process.

Shaking his head, for lack of anything to say, Arthur looked up, complete lost within Francis' gaze. "It's… like we never broke up."

Somberness fell upon the two, Francis holding Arthur's head tight to his chest. "I… have not yet apologized for what I did to you last year," he said, his lips moving lightly over Arthur's messy hair. "It was completely unfair of me, and very cruel. I am so sorry, _mon cher_."

Arthur looked up, tears streaming from his bright green eyes. "Don't put all the blame on yourself, Francis."

"_Non_," he said, looking down into those watery orbs with a sense of determination. "You were going through such a stressful time. I merely got annoyed, jealous even, and… I took your words the wrong way. That was very selfish of me, sleeping with someone else was…"

Silence broke Francis' words and hung in the air around the two, reminding them both of the current situation.

"What's to become of you and Alfred?"

As expected from their dear friend, Gilbert's voice pierced the air of the street, shaking the two sinners from their state. "Hey! Assholes! Hurry up, I wanna see the fucking Eiffel Tower!"

Chuckling, Francis lead Arthur down the street towards their two companions, whispering gently into his ear, "Best not keep him waiting."

Arthur smirked, leaning into Francis' hold and shouting back towards his friend. "Must you always be so rude, Gilbert?"

The German-born teen laughed, pulling out a camera from his pocket and flashing a signature smile. "I just want some pictures, man!"

|.|.|.|

A sufficient crowd of people greeted the foursome at the bottom of the tower, lines of people eager to take the lifts up to the observation decks above. Arthur kept his eyes up, focusing on the second level of the Eiffel Tower. He smiled and brought himself in closer to Francis, pecking his cheek with a kiss. "This might just be my favorite place in the world," he whispered, remembering that chilly night from 10 years back.

Francis chuckled and looked over towards Gilbert. "There's quite a line, _mon ami_. I'm afraid you won't get your pictures."

Gilbert let out a peculiar type sound, approaching the lovers with his camera. "I don't wanna go up; I want a picture from down here."

"Down here?"

Nodding, the silver-haired teen ran to a random spot outside the shell of the tower's feet, dragging Antonio with him. His smile could be spotted from afar, and with an obnoxious arm movement motioning them towards him, Arthur and Francis gave up trying to figure out Gilbert; that seemed to be the logical thing to do.

"I like this spot," he said, glancing up as the iron structure stood majestically before him. He brought out hands, both thumbs and forefingers stretched out to form a box, framing his vision and smiling brightly. "Oh, hell yes. Okay! Just… stay there, okay?"

Arthur watched as his friend randomly ran around to different groups of people, his arms waving about and his mouth moving in words and laughs. He returned, accompanied by a couple, both of whom spoke in prominent Mid-Western American accents, carrying his camera

"Okay," he said, returning to his friends, planting himself beside Arthur and wrapping an arm around the teen.

The couple started the count off from three, and Arthur laughed, amused by the antics of his best friend. "Gilbert, you truly amaze me."

"…two…"

"It's what I do best!"

"…one…"

"Arthur," Francis said lightly, turning the Briton's attention to his other side. At the sound of the couple yelling "cheese", Arthur was stolen into a kiss.

Gilbert and Antonio burst into laughter while the couple stood baffled, Gilbert's camera still in their possession.

"That's fucking brilliant! Thanks, guys," Gilbert said, running towards the couple to snatch his camera back. Playing with the buttons on the digital device, he returned with the camera boasting what Gilbert considered _The Greatest Photo Ever Taken_: Gilbert and Antonio, framing the candid kissing duo, in front of the world's most iconic figure. "Holy shit, I love it!"

Between his attacks towards Francis, for the day's second spur-of-the-moment embarrassment, Arthur chanced a glance at the picture on Gilbert's camera; he found it hard to disagree with his friend's opinion of the photo.

|.|.|.|

There were a few more stops here and there in the city, but the four teens eventually made it back to the limo, which brought them to the airport. Arthur's "dreaded" week was finally coming to a close, and although the experience was much better than he had been prepared, his mind still juggled between "right" and "wrong"; Alfred and Francis.

After the long process of checking in luggage and going through security, the four traveled to their gate and waited to board their plane; luckily, Arthur and Francis had plenty of time to distract themselves from the wait with sweet-nothings and soft kisses. They were eventually dragged out of their "vomit-worthy" trance, as stated by Gilbert, and dragged onto the plane.

Arthur couldn't remember much of his flight back to the U.S.; whether it lasted five minutes, 8 hours, or 20 years, he was content in Francis' arms, dozing in and out of sleep and affectionate euphoria.

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**_...to be continued._**

_Thanks for reading and sticking with me! Just two more chapters, guys. Plus, a possible epilogue. ;D_

**_~erbby_**


	11. Dix, le retour

_A/N: Hello! It seems like I didn't hesitate to write and post this chapter, but we are nearing the end, and I got a bit excited. So, please enjoy! Remember, I don't own anything. This chapter contains language and sexual themes. Also, this is the USUK chapter. Don't hate me. HEARTS_

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**Dix, le retour**

Their plane landed in the East Coast darkness, welcoming the foursome to the official end of their Parisian vacation. Arthur trudged off the plane, hanging most of his weight on Francis, wrapped snuggly in the French teen's arms.

"Well, that was a sufficiently awesome Spring Break," Gilbert said with a jet-lagged yawn, wrapping an arm around Antonio and following the lovers out of the terminal.

With a light laugh, Antonio returned his friend's gesture. "I agree," he said with a bright smile.

Arthur yawned and searched through his pockets for his phone to check the time. "Gilbert," he said, further inspecting the _international_ phone, "does this phone work in the States as well?"

Walking forward and breaking apart the loving duo, Gilbert took the phone in his hands and looked at it with burning thought before returning it to Arthur. "Yeah, I think it should be fine. Don't worry, I'll go with you to get a new phone this week. How about Monday after school?"

Arthur smiled with gratitude, knowing his friend wasn't that cruel hearted of a person to destroy his cell phone and not do something to compensate said loss. But before Arthur could open his mouth to finalize the deal, the foursome was welcomed by the screaming of a certain American teen.

"Arthur… ARTHUR!"

The moment nearly happened in slow-motion; he heard his name and was immediately drawn to the bespectacled blonde charging through a crowd of people and dashing towards the Briton. His green eyes widened, not expected such a force to push him back from the hug.

"Oh my God, I'm so happy you're back," Alfred mumbled excitedly into Arthur's shoulder, his body shaking with a week-long's excitement, wrapped tight around his boyfriend.

Arthur had to take deep breaths, unsure of how to react to this moment, considering just minutes before he was enveloped in another man's hold. After a guilt ridden swallow, he joined in the embrace, resting his arms over Alfred's back and lightly kissing the side of this head. "Thanks," he choked out, those excited blue gems sparkling up at him.

"Let's go get your luggage," he said, like an anxious pup testing out its bark, and grabbed Arthur's hand, dragging him towards the luggage claim.

Tempted to glance back, Arthur wasn't sure if he could stomach making eye contact with Francis after such a spectacle. But somewhere in his heart, he wanted just one last glance.

|.|.|.|

"I'll go drop your things off in your room and be right back, okay," Alfred said, opening his door and holding it for Arthur to walk through.

The Briton gave a small nod, walking into his boyfriend's room for the first time in over a week. "Thank you," he said, before the door shut and echoed throughout the room. It was odd, surrounded by everything that screamed Alfred's essence and personality. He glanced over at the bed, spotting an American football jersey and a pair of black bike shorts, Arthur's regular sleeping attire when with Alfred. He sighed and grabbed the clothes, making his way towards the small bathroom.

It wasn't brought up in conversation that Arthur would be staying the night, but it seemed to be an unvoiced arrangement. Stripping off his travel-wear, Arthur took a careful glance at his body in the mirror; the bruise from Wednesday had lightened enough that no one could notice it at first glance, but sporadic red marks from French lips decorated his pale flesh. His cheeks burnt with the heat of blush, Arthur quickly hiding the proof of his sin under the oversized _Cowboy's_ jersey. "I'll just say I'm tired if he wants to do anything," he told himself in the mirror, patting his face with cold water.

Walking out from the bathroom, Arthur was welcomed by Alfred's bright smile and another tight hug. "I missed you, Arthur," he nearly squealed, picking Arthur up and twirling him towards the bed. "So," he said, planting both of them atop the star-spangled bed sheets, "how was France?"

Still lost within his boyfriend's excitement, Arthur nodded, an awkward smile creeping on his lips. "Um, good," he said, trying his hardest to avoid the details of his trip.

"Aw man, I'm so jealous! I wish I could go overseas," he said, resting his head on Arthur's lap and glancing up with a mischievous smirk. "And I will, won't I? Over the summer?"

Slowly, Arthur nodded, remembering his promise to spend at least a week with Alfred back home in London over the summer. "Right," he answered, losing himself in another world.

Alfred sat up, leaning his forehead against Arthur's, a pout prominent on his lips. "Hey, are okay? You're all 'not with it' and junk."

"Hmm, I'm just tired, that's all. Sorry," Arthur said, trying his hardest to avoid eye contact.

A small sound of understanding perked from Alfred's lips, his arms wrapping around Arthur and bringing him down to lie next to him on the bed. "I bet. I'm kinda tired myself," he said, kissing Arthur on the nose and snuggling under the covers. "I'll just have to wait until tomorrow to hear about Paris. Good night!"

"Good night," Arthur whispered, but it would be hours before he could even shut his eyes to get the smallest bit of sleep.

|.|.|.|

At first, Arthur thought his phone was ringing, that legendary song playing softly in the background, but dropped the thought once he realized two things; Gilbert destroyed that phone and he was at Alfred's place, so why would the American call him? His eyes opened slowly, spotting Alfred bopping his head about and singing along to "Free Bird" at his desk. Arthur felt tempted to smile, but guilt weighed his lips down. One glance at the alarm clock brought a grown from his throat. "It's past noon," he whined, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Alfred turned around, his blue eyes bright with excitement as he bolted towards the bed. "Good morning! I mean, afternoon, ha," he said, kissing Arthur on his tired lips.

"Why did you let me sleep in so late?"

Shrugging, Alfred wrapped his arm around Arthur, holding him close. "Didn't wanna disturb you. But, now you're up! So, let's get studying!"

"Fuck," Arthur groaned, remembering his dreaded Calculus exam for the first time in over a week. "I completely forgot about that."

Alfred laughed and plopped himself on the ground, littered with scrap papers, text books, pencils, and his trusty calculator. "Yeah, well you were away. But we have all weekend, so get your cute butt down here so I can help you out," he said, patting the space on the ground beside him.

Sighing, Arthur climbed out of the bed and gave his body a healthy stretch before joining Alfred on the floor, staring at the book with little celebration. "Derivatives, right? Oh, fuck me, I hate this damn subject," he said, picking up a piece of paper and starting to work on some problems.

"Oh?"

Arthur paid little attention to the devious tone in Alfred's voice until the American's mouth was plastered to his neck. "A-alfred!"

His hands roamed up underneath the jersey, their chill startling to the heat of Arthur's body. "What? You said 'fuck me'."

"Not literally, idiot!"

Alfred groaned, but his mouth continued its way along Arthur's jaw while his hands slipped into the confines of Arthur's tight bike shorts. "Come on, it's been a week! God, I nearly lost count of all the times I masturbated while you were gone."

Arthur tried to protest, but his open mouth just gave Alfred the chance to pounce and push Arthur to the ground, the blue-eyed teen's fingers desperately working the Briton into arousal. "S-stop it, I have to study," he cried, breaking from the messy kiss.

"But we have all weekend!"

Alfred had a point, but it wasn't the kind Arthur cared to hear. This was his first time alone with his boyfriend in over a week, but Arthur had a difficult time erasing Francis' touch from his skin. Everywhere Alfred's hands went, Arthur remembered how much better Francis felt; in a desperate move to keep the Parisian memory alive, he pushed Alfred off of him.

"Jeez, Arthur, what's wrong?"

He couldn't say it, not to Alfred, not so soon. He glanced up at the nightstand, spotting his phone beside his clothes; Alfred must have put them there earlier. "I have to go," he said beneath his breath, grabbing the phone and his clothing and making a beeline to the door.

Arthur bolted down the hall, exiting the building and running towards his own, hearing Alfred yelling from not too far behind. He heard his keys start to jingle from inside the cloth ball and grabbed them, to make entry into his room that much easier. Up the stoop and into the hall, he ran up the two flights to his mini-apartment and jammed the key into the hole. He was lucky enough to slam the door shut and lock it before hearing Alfred's voice echoing up the stairwell.

How could Arthur let that happen? Why did he have to run, to keep Francis to haunt his mind and his flesh? None of this was fair to Alfred, who proceeded to bang on Arthur's door for almost an hour before giving up in what sounded like tears.

Arthur held his own back; crying didn't fit in playing the part of the whore. His eyes turned to the floor, spotting the phone. Even if it wasn't meant for use within the U.S., his recipient was already abroad. It had to work.

He grabbed the phone and quickly dialed, taking a deep breath when the person on the other end answered with caution.

"Sorry, Dad, it's me, Arthur."

He closed his eyes, taking into deep consideration his next sentence, but he had to do this, for his own sake. "I have to talk to you about Oxford."

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_**...to be concluded.**_

_Just one more chapter! Thank you so much for sticking around, it means so much that you all have been enjoying this fic._

**_~erbby_**


	12. Onze, fin

_A/N: Here it is. The final chapter. Posted on my birthday, too!_

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**Onze, fin**

Countless missed calls and unread messages lingered the cellular phone Arthur thought would barely work in The States. He couldn't stomach listening to or reading the messages and on Sunday night, responded to Alfred's attempts with one simple message: "After school tomorrow. West side. Oak tree."

Arthur spent most of school day in the Student Council room when not in class, giving everyone the excuse that he was busy catching up with backed-up work; the only time he had seen Alfred was in Calculus class. Luckily, the test was a fantastic enough distraction to avoid speaking to him before their destined meet-up time.

Before the last bell rang, Arthur made his way to the West side of the school, where a quaint courtyard boasted its greatest resident, the Oak tree. A small smile snuck onto his lips, Gilbert's body propped against the tree nonchalantly.

"I thought you quit smoking two years ago," Arthur said, walking up to his good friend.

"Yeah, well, I still like to hang out here," Gilbert answered, his crimson eyes locked on the light grey clouds above. "So," he said after a bout of mutual silence, "when do you wanna get that phone, Mr. Hermit?"

Arthur sighed, regretting his decision to lock himself in his room for most of the weekend. The sound of the final bell ringing brought the Briton's attention to the courtyard entrance, spotting Alfred walking into the greenery. "After this," he said softly.

"Oh shit," he heard Gilbert say behind him, before the silver-haired teen expertly made his way towards the courtyard exit.

The two blondes faced one another, mere feet apart before Arthur widened the distance by leaning up against the tree. The thought of this conversation made Arthur feel the least bit nauseas, his eyes tilted up in awkward sympathy. "Hey," he said, hoping to end the silence.

"Hey," Alfred said, almost in a stutter. "Are… you feeling any better?"

Taking in a healthy dose of air, Arthur kept his eyes low, trying not to focus on those puppy-like eyes. "Well. Not exactly…"

Alfred stepped closer, closing the distance and leaning down to peer up into the Briton's eyes. "What's up, Arthur," he said, his voice full of concern and his eyes with just as much floating in those blue pools.

Just looking at Alfred was heartbreaking enough. With a shuddering breath, Arthur held back his tears and looked into his boyfriend's eyes with earnest sympathy. "I don't know how to say this without hurting you."

The concern on Alfred's face slowly morphed into confusion, his feet taking him further back from the tree.

It took all of Arthur's strength, all of his breath to even think up the following words he was about to say, but it had to be done; leaving things to rest in secrecy only ended in harsher heartbreak, and he did not want Alfred to go through _that_. He closed his eyes, composing himself before releasing the venom from his unfaithful tongue. "Alfred," he started softly, "I slept with Francis in Paris."

Alfred's eyes widened with shock, his mouth hanging open in near disgust as the poisonous bite began to infest his every pore. "Wh-what?"

"It was a mistake at first, but…"

"At first! You mean you slept with him more than once?" The American's voice boomed throughout the courtyard, but not the way it usually did; his tone was full of hurt and anger.

Arthur looked forward, punishing himself for making his boyfriend react in such a way, for breaking a heart that was so devoted to him. "Alfred," he said, wanting to reach out but resisting the motion due to fear and regret.

"He broke your heart, Arthur," Alfred spat back, still finding ways to defend the person now breaking his own.

"I know, he did, but…"

"But I guess you just wanted to take a stab at mine."

Alfred injected his own lethal dose into Arthur. Silence hung in the air, the two blondes nearly swimming in a pool of hurt, shame, and regret. "Please don't make this harder than it already is," Arthur said, holding back the choked sobs that were aching to spew from his mouth.

"Yeah? Well how do you think I feel?"

Arthur couldn't answer, because he knew how it felt, but in a different way. Walking into the Student Council room to the surprise of Francis deep inside another student was a harsh way to end a relationship. And yet, that same cheating bastard had stolen his heart once more, had revealed an undying love for the Briton. Arthur left his answer for Alfred in the silence, reflecting on how foolish a person he had been.

"So, I guess this is it, huh," Alfred said softly, a loud sniffle following his tearful words.

Looking up, Arthur saw the tears stream down Alfred's pouting face, his eyes red and narrowed in heartbreak. "I'm sorry, Alfred," he choked out, wanting this entire afternoon to disappear, wanting to see that blonde smile brightly in his expertise.

"Don't," Alfred said, shaking his head and walking towards the courtyard entrance.

Arthur stared at Alfred's hunched back, letting the tears fall softly from his eyes, until the American teen vanished from his sight. He broke out into a sob, sliding down against the tree and falling into a pathetic ball on the ground.

After what seemed like days, a shadow leered on the ground towards Arthur's body, catching his attention soon after its emergence. "Well, that was…" Gilbert started to say, a pensive look on his face.

"Rough," Arthur said in a cough, standing up and drying off the chilling tears from his face. "But it had to be done. I can't live with that weight on my shoulders, and it's not fair to Alfred anyway."

Gilbert simply nodded, placing a gentle hand on his best friend's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "I'm here for you."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur let out a small laugh before glaring up at his friend. "I can blame you for all of this."

"Me? Whoa," Gilbert yelled, but there wasn't much to follow besides the chatter of students walking past the courtyard to their dormitories; the two knew how this whole thing started, with one request to join in on a week of Parisian sin.

"You know," Arthur said, making his way toward the sidewalk, "I'm not going to Oxford next year."

Like a white flash of lightning, Gilbert propelled himself in front of his friend, his red eyes wide and burning. "What the fuck? Is this a joke?"

Smiling, Arthur shook his head. "No, it's not."

"Arthur, you worked your ass off to get into that school!"

"I was on the phone with my father and admissions nearly all weekend; I'm not going to Oxford," he said, stopping and staring straight into those concerned flames. "I'm going to Columbia University instead."

The German native froze, eliciting a laugh from Arthur at the odd contortions of his face. "Wait, Columbia? As in..?"

"Yes, Gilbert," Arthur said amidst a blush. "I'll be in New York come August."

The sound that erupted from Gilbert's lungs shook the sidewalk beneath their feet. His arm wrapped tightly around Arthur's neck and the smile on his face could probably break the skin on the silver-haired teen's face. "This is fucking _awesome_! Holy shit, Arthur, I'm freaking out. You are so living with us, there's not even a question to that."

Arthur stifled a laugh, still feeling it a time inappropriate for celebration; despite the news, someone's heart was still broken in the process, a thought that would forever sting at Arthur's core. "I figured as much," he said, the two of them nearing the concrete archway that led to the South exit of the school. Arthur's green eyes scanned the archway and a soft blow of wind brought their attention to golden waves and azure gems beneath them. "Francis," his lips mumbled.

Unfortunately, not even the sensual smirk on the French teen's lips could distract Arthur from the bloody bruise invading the whole left side of Francis' face.

"Oh my God!"

"_C'est rein_," Francis said, stopping Arthur from further fret, the English teen bolting towards him. "I just bumped into Alfred on my way out."

"Bumped is putting it lightly," Gilbert said, his lip twitching.

Arthur stopped his fingers from irritating the fresh injury and instead kept them to himself. "I'm sorry," he said, tears threatening his eyes.

Shaking his head, Francis placed his hand upon Arthur's cheek, his serene smile and aura evaporating those tears away. "_Pourquoi_?"

Arthur heard ten years of love in Francis' voice, ten years he hoped would stabilize a much longer and happier relationship; infidelity had sunk its hungry teeth into both of these lovers at least once, and hopefully it didn't have any more juicy fruits to offer. He smiled and lowered his head, backing away from Francis lest he be further tempted. "No, not until Graduation, remember?"

"Graduation?"

Laughing, Francis looked away in defeat, merely standing by Arthur's side as the three of them left the school grounds. "_Oui_, Gilbert. Arthur has put a date on the continuation of our relationship."

"Because it wouldn't be fair to Alfred," Arthur said, a prominent pout on his lips.

"Arthur, I think you've gone far beyond being fair to Jones."

The Briton shot a glare back at his friend, hoping the remarks would end. "I know," he said in a tone that could've turned those words into profanity.

Gilbert merely laughed, but again, knew when to stop speaking and once Antonio and Lovino were spotted and invited into the collective, distracted himself with his task of the day: a new phone for Arthur.

Surely, playing out some sort of chivalry towards his new ex-boyfriend was the least Arthur could do, especially after seven months of innocent love. But Arthur's heart had always belonged to another, and that fact alone had always played against Alfred's infatuation with the Briton.

Despite their rocky past, Arthur could sense a lifetime with Francis ahead of him; no matter what stepped in their way, the two would always be drawn together, and eternally crazy for one another.

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**_the end_**

_I know, a bit of a cheesy ending (phrasing wise, at least), but I think it's cute. Thanks so much for sticking with me this whole time. I'm really glad that you've enjoyed it so much, and even if you haven't, thanks for reading anyway. I'll be back with several prequels (at least ONE, for sure) and perhaps a sequel for this. I love my "Gakuen"/High School AU-verse for this series and I want to get some burning questions you might have had answered in other fics, some of which will feature different pairings! O: But I have to write them, haha._

_So again! Thank you. I love you all. So much. :3_

**_~erbby_**


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